


The New Kid

by manspirations



Series: Long Live Stackson! [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 154,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manspirations/pseuds/manspirations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski, new to Beacon Hills, never expected to:</p><p>-Meet his bro soul-mate Scott McCall.<br/>-Actually be considered an invaluable member of the Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team.<br/>-Or, find a home with a pack of werewolves</p><p>But, above all, he never ever expected he'd find himself enamored with the asshole Beacon Hills High loved to hate, Jackson Whittemore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain American vs. Iron Man

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: many canonical aspects have been changed. To be honest, most is different besides werewolves, Scott being the best bro ever, Stiles being his awesome witty self, Jackson being an asshole who is less 'asshole-ish' to his friends, and everyone loving Danny. Sorry if that deters you. 
> 
> *Insert disclaimer here*

“Get in the car.”

Stiles halted. He wasn’t completely sure but the bark seemed directed at him. The gruff voice, dripping with malice, emanated from a sleek Porsche. Everyone knew the car belonged to _the_ Jackson Whittemore. It had been one of the first pieces of information Scott disdainfully gave him when Stiles first moved to Beacon Hills. Only, he’d been here for a month and today was the first anyone besides Scott and the goalie of their lacrosse team talked to him. Before this, Jackson barely thought him worthy of a simple glance. 

“I didn't know you two were friends.” Scott, his new best bud, said, fiddling with the lock of his bike. Stiles shrugged, noting the sharp daggers Scott tossed Jackson as the guy glared back at him. For a small moment, Jackson shifted his gaze over to Stiles, giving him that same wrinkle of disgust with a hint of intrigue.  

        “He’s Jackson Whittemore and I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He blurted. Scott stared up at him, clearly confused by what he meant. “That would be a no, Scott. No, we are 140% not friends." As if he could hear his words, Jackson blared his horn, making them both jump.

        Scott chuckled, his odd anger towards Jackson evaporating. “I feel sorry for you, bro. He’s an asshole but, people don’t say no to him.” Stiles gathered that much. “Call me later or something. See ya.” He cycled away from the school before Stiles could protest. Now that he's standing in front of the school by himself, he's forced to acknowledge his presence. It would be so easy to make a run for his Jeep but, like Scott said, you don't say no to Jackson Whittemore. Cautiously, he strolled over to the car. Without speaking to him, Jackson gestured for him to walk around to the passenger side. Most of the tension fled from his shoulders when Danny slipped out the passenger seat to allow him access. Danny he could deal with. Even though, they never speak unless he's complimenting his lacrosse skills, Stiles got good vibes from Danny. 

       “Hey man. Hop in.” Danny grinned at him, beckoning him to enter the car. Dimples blinded his judgment, since he willingly dived clumsily into the plush backseat. At least, that’s what he’s going to tell Scott when they talk later on. It’s more acceptable than his real reason. He’s curious about the infamous Jackson Whittemore. Everyone _knows of_ him but very few people _know him_.

       Once Danny returned comfortably to his seat, Jackson peeled away from the crowded lot. A few of his classmates stared as they went. 

       “So, where are we going exactly…?” He asked after they’d been driving for what felt like ten minutes. The silence was unnerving. If they knew him, they’d be happy he’d stayed quiet for this long. Jackson’s irritated eyes stared at him through the rear-view. Was that supposed to scare him quiet? They must really know nothing of him. When he grew nervous, he talked more. “Cause, if this is a welcome tour of Beacon Hills, you’re about a month too late.”

       “Oh My God.” Jackson groaned, gripping the wheel. “Danny! Shut him up.” _Rude._ Stiles opened his mouth to retaliate but Danny cut him off.

       “We’re almost there.” At his warm smile, Stiles held his tongue. Even though, Danny’s words did nothing for his worries. For all he knows, his words are another way of saying "we're almost to your death." He told them as much. “Don’t be so dramatic." Danny said,  rolling his eyes.  "He's about worst than you, Jacks.” He chuckled, gesturing between both he and Jackson. Danny doesn't give him the opportunity to protest.“We’re going to the mall.” 

       “Oh. Alright.” This whole situation screams Mean Girls but, Stiles is beyond relieved he's not being axed in the middle of nowhere. He caught the death glares Jackson gave him at yesterday's practice when Coach said Stiles was the best thing to ever happen to them. Stiles found himself actually relaxing against the backseat. He kept entertained to avoid hearing his captain's mouth again. Only the only form of entertainment came in the form of watching Danny and Jackson interact. The two of them engaged in a non-verbal argument. Jackson lost. After a long sigh, the impossible happened. Jackson actually talked to him.  

       “Danny thinks you’re cool so, I’m taking a chance on you.” Stiles rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was Jackson taking a chance on him. Danny, on the other hand, was awesome and officially Stiles’s favorite friend, after Scotty, of course.

       “Aww, Danny. You’re too sweet.” He put a smile on Danny's face. 

       Jackson interrupted Danny before he could reciprocate the love. “If I'm gonna be seen with you, we need to change your entire…everything. I mean, Captain America really?” Stiles felt personally insulted. He clutched his shirt, protecting it from Jackson's harsh words. What horrible person speaks Captain America’s name with such disdain? Like Batman, Captain America is one of the superhero gods. He felt a livid rant coming on. No one disrespects the Captain. 

       "Captain America is sexy, thank you very much and who the hell doesn't want to be him? He's the CAPTAIN of freaking AMERICA!” Jackson scoffed, giving him the slightest of amused glances in the rear-view. It disappeared quickly but, Stiles knows what he saw.

       "Not everyone wants to be Captain America, Stilinski." He sneered. It's the first time Jackson's shown any indication that he knows his name. It's also when he recognizes he's having a superhero debate with the "most popular" guy in school. "Iron Man doesn't want to be Captain America." He had a point there. If he was having this debate with Scott, Stiles would have made an off-handed comment about how Iron Man's too busy wanting to be  _in_ Captain America to want to be him. He's with Jackson and Danny, though. They need to build up to those kind of innuendos. Instead, he settles for agreeing with him. 

       “True but Iron Man's a jackass." He decided to add, "Sort of like you.” Jackson shrugged his shoulders, with a smug smirk plastered all over his face. Danny, who up until this point was casually following their argument, twisted fully into the backseat. He was happy to turn his attention towards the one person who actually wanted him here. 

      “See Jacks, he hates Stark too. Friendship at first car ride.” Stiles appreciated Danny’s attempt to cut through the tension. Being the best friend he was, Jackson smacked lightly on the shoulder.  

        “I’m a Stark reincarnate, Stilinski. I take offense to that.” His tone is almost playful.

      “Stark would probably pull the whole Mean Girls thing too. It’s a perfect fit.” Stiles winked at the rearview mirror, knowing Jackson could see him. Even if, his eyes were trained on the road.

       “Jacks loves that movie. You're probably fulfilling one of his fantasies.” Danny seemed unconcerned that his words forced both Stiles and Jackson into an uncontrollable coughing fit. You can’t say ‘Jackson’ and ‘fantasy’ in the same sentence and expect his imagination not to roam. A flood of images hit him. Danny waited patiently for them both to settle down.

       “The fuck-Danny!” Jackson bellowed, after he got a hold of himself. “I’m not telling you anything anymore if you’re going to just blabber it to reasonably attractive strangers!” That started a bickering war between them. He’s too busy stuttering over Jackson’s words to care that they’re arguing about him as if he’s not sitting in the car. Jackson called him attractive. Well, reasonably attractive but, that insinuates he’s some kind of attractive. Coming from Adonis himself, it’s a big deal.

       Stiles felt a sudden urge to share this news. He sends Scott a message.

**(Stiles)** _Jackson said I’m attractive. Should I be proud?_

**(Scott)** _U sure he meant u? If he was talkin thru the rearview, he probs talkin bout himself._

       He barked a laugh, gaining the attention of the bickering best friends. They turned to face him, now that the car sat parked outside of the mall.

**(Stiles)**   _lol he def meant me though._

**(Scott)**   _interesting. At work ttyl!!!  
_

       “Your girlfriend say something funny?” Jackson arched one of his professionally carved eyebrows. Stiles hated that he thought it was a good look on him.  

       “You mean, Scott?” Stiles corrected him, reminding himself to ask Scott later about the animosity floating between them two. 

       “That’s who I was talking about.” Jackson smirked, before stretching out the car. Now that he knows more about Jackson, he’s starting to get most of his offensive words are actually badly delivered jokes. Stiles cackled, letting the comment roll off him. He fell in line with them, walking into the entrance of Nordstrom’s. He felt lost in a store like this. Mostly because, he can’t even afford the miscellaneous items they place near the register. Danny and Jackson, though, you’d think this was their home. Staring at him and then looking to each other, they nodded. Without speaking a word to each other, they moved in the direction for jeans, expecting Stiles to follow.

       He wanted to hate Jackson and his cool exterior and his clichéd leather jacket. Then, he saw how loose he was around Danny. There was even a moment where that looseness extended to him. He decided. Stiles was going to stick it out and pretend to have a good time. Five stores and eight large shopping bags later, his brain forgot about the ‘pretend’ part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!!!!


	2. They Hear All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As expected, the next day was relatively normal. Every time he saw Danny, he dimpled at him. (Yes, Stiles created a new word to describe Danny’s smile. The English language didn't do it enough justice.) Also, there were moments where Jackson would grimace less when his gaze passed over Stiles's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I envisioned sports practices held an hour before school, every morning. Like my old high school.

       As expected, the next day was relatively normal. Every time he saw Danny, he dimpled at him. ( _Yes_ , Stiles created a new word to describe Danny’s smile. The English language didn't do it enough justice.) Also, there were moments where Jackson would grimace less when his gaze passed over Stiles's presence. As much as he hated to admit it, those moments stuck with him the most. He only felt a little sadness when Jackson’s Porsche tore through the parking lot without him. While he drove Scott and his bike to the vet’s office, Stiles decided to forget the whole thing happened. He had Scott, the greatest of all bros. When he lounged in his room alone, he realized how foolish his thoughts were. After just one day, he missed Danny and Jackson's company. Pathetic, he was. For two days, he sat in his room, drowning out his boredom with food, video games, homework, and porn.

       On Thursday, Danny showed up at his house in a white Ford Fusion. Stiles opened the door barefoot, with a banana dangling from his mouth. He was too confused about why Danny stood outside his house and how he’d known where he lived in the first place to worry about his appearance. Danny pushed his body through the opening in the door, muttering on about how sad and dismal Stiles's life was without them. 

       They spent the night making fun of the actors in Danny’s favorite trashy reality TV show, Jersey Shore. Even though he never wanted to see another orange person in his life, the night was fun. When he busied himself cleaning up the pizza boxes, empty cans, and snack wrappers, Danny turned to him abruptly. “Jackson’s a good guy.” After a few seconds of Stiles trying to come up with a decent response, Danny cleared his throat. “Anyway, I think if you give each other a chance, you’d both be surprised.”

       To some extent, Stiles agreed with him. At the mall, he caught a glimpse of how awesome a real friendship with Jackson Whittemore could be. That doesn't mean they’d ever get to that point. The hopeful expression Danny threw him, however, made him want to try.

        “Alright.” He gave in, walking Danny to the door.

       “Yeah?” He dimpled once more, causing Stiles to grin back. “Good. Wanna do something with us tomorrow?” Stiles nodded, gripping the door. He hoped his response hid how much he wanted to do something with them tomorrow. “Cool. Later Stiles.” With a wave, he headed to his car and drove away.

       Thus, the pattern began. During school, he’d spend every moment with Scott. After school was reserved for either Danny or Danny and Jackson. Sometimes they’d go to Danny’s house. Sometimes they’d go to his. Other times, Stiles would follow Jackson’s car to random locations in Beacon Hills: the local coffee shop, the park, the mall, Wal-mart. Once they even showed him their town’s hidden gem, a vintage arcade center. Stiles was both shocked and impressed with Jackson’s gaming abilities. He held the high score for every machine in the building. Until, Stiles came along, of course. When he broke three of his records, Jackson spent two days icing him out because of it. Even then, the three of them were something resembling friends. However, there seemed to be four conditions to their friendship.

  1.      They never hung out Friday nights because of some family event. 
  2.      They never went to Jackson’s house.
  3.      They never interacted at school.
  4.      Finally, he and Jackson never hung out by themselves.



       In the beginning, it didn't bother him, not hanging out with Jackson alone. They weren't that close, Stiles understood that. Now, almost a month later, he and Jackson had grown. They shared inside jokes. They even bonded over a love for movies. After all that, Jackson avoided being alone with him. It bugged him. More importantly, it bugged him that he didn't want to admit why it bugged him.

      A rounded object continuously poked him in the side until he came crashing back to reality. Scott observed him, with a concerned frown on his face. His new founded absent-mindedness happened more and more each day. He peered around the locker room, taking note of the lack of teammates. More specifically, the bench where his captain once sat was empty.  “You do realize you’re doing that staring thing again right? You ok?” His best friend whispered under his breath, leaning against his locker. Stiles cleared his throat as he finished putting his shirt on. If Scott’s noticing how often his eyes landed on Jackson, then it’s becoming a problem.

        “I’m good bud.” He rummaged through his locker to avoid looking Scott in the eyes. For some reason, he always knew when Stiles is lying. He thought he’d gotten rid of his tell long ago. A sudden urge to tell Scott the truth came over him. They rarely talk about his friendship with Jackson but, Stiles knew Scott would help him. “Actually not really. I think I… have feelings for someone I shouldn't be having… feelings for.” Scott’s eyes widened before madly glancing around them. All their other teammates, except for two freshman, had vacated the room. Scott’s swift movements knocked him off balance. Before he understood what was going on, he'd been yanked from the locker room and pulled all through the school. Because it’s still twenty minutes before the first bell, the halls are vacant sans for a few lingering bodies. He’s in the library before his mouth catches up with his brain.

       “Why are we in the library?” A small sea of shushes are thrown in their direction. Stiles sneered at a few of his aggravated classmates. Most of them sat talking just as loud if not more loudly than him. 

       “Sorry.” Scott apologized for him. He finally let go once he promised to follow along without question. The maze of hallways and staircases started to smell like old books and stale lemon wood polish. One longer hallway led them to a block of soundproof practice rooms. Who decides to lug their instrument all the way down these halls just to practice?

       Stiles, with amusement, watched Scott make a big show of sealing the door. With Scott, he’s learned to go with the flow. Once he felt they were secure, he turned back to Stiles with an expectant expression.

       “What?” Stiles glanced around the small room, confused. It’s rare that he’s the confused one in this friendship.

       “Finish speaking. We’re out of earshot.”

       “Earshot of the locker room? No shit, Scott! I feel like we’re in the center of the Earth. How do you even know about this place?” Stiles waved his arms wildly around the room. Was he serious right now?

        Scott blushed. With a blush like that, it probably has something to do with a girl. 

       “I dated this girl named Allison right before you came. This was our spot.”

       “Allison? Argent?” Scott turned a lobster shade of red. “Good for you buddy. She’s cute.” Scott grinned proudly before settling back into his look of determination. Oh right, they were supposed to be talking about his feelings.

       “So, who is it? Jackson? Danny? Isaac? Boyd? Matt? Greenberg? Please don’t say Greenberg Stiles.” He didn’t even know half of the people on that list. And, what was everyone’s deal with the Greenberg kid? From the few times he’d talked to him, he really didn’t seem so bad.

       “What? No! Though he’s not bad looking dude. All he needs is a solid haircut.”

       “Stiles!”

       “Oh right, it’s Jackson. I’m attracted to Jackson.” Scott was silent before drawing a thick, goofy laugh. Stiles glared at him.

       “Who doesn’t find him attractive? Do you like him, that’s the question?” Stiles would have expected someone with such problems with Jackson to hate the idea. It furthers his love for Scott.

       “Maybe. It’s not like we actually do anything without Danny. Oh, I know!” The idea that popped into his head is brilliant. Scott might love him enough to do it too. “You could talk to him for me. See if he likes guys or something.” Scott looked truly petrified at the idea of speaking to Jackson.

       “Jackson and I can’t even be near each other without wanting to claw each other’s face off. We are not having a conversation about whether he likes dudes or not. Ask Danny. Won’t he already know? Or, here’s an idea. You can stop being a chicken and ask him yourself! You do spend like every day with him, alone or not.” He completely ignored the last suggestion, focusing instead on the Danny part. He was a genius. Danny would tell him whatever he wanted to know. He bear hugged Scott.

       “You’re the man, Scotty!” He shouted, gripping his shoulders. “Best friends for life!” He tore through the cluster of hallways and study rooms. Surprisingly enough, Stiles found them right away. Jackson, Danny, and girl he knew as Lydia Martin sat around a table on the main level. Danny texted on his phone, smiling every so often. Lydia casually took notes from her physics book. He waited several minutes until Jackson left the table. Once he started heading toward the stacks, Stiles made his move. Charging forward, his butt smacked against the seat, causing both Lydia and Danny to snap up.

       “Hey Stiles.” His friend greeted him, smiling back down at his phone. “What’s up?” His happy tone perplexed him. He wasn’t upset that Stiles decided to talk to them during school hours. Did he make that rule up himself? Interesting. He inhaled, prepared to ask his question before Jackson came back. Then, he remembered the third party sitting at the table. Even though she was currently ignoring them, her ears still worked. Stiles peeked at Lydia Martin through the side of his eyes. She sat unbothered, with her strawberry blonde hair, perfectly red lips, and flawless skin. He knew from his conversations with Danny that she was more than her looks. Lydia held the highest GPA in the school. There’s no doubt in his mind that if Stiles had met her first, he’d be all over that. Danny finally glanced up from his phone, catching Stiles watching Lydia. A grin slid over his face. Damn, Stiles thought. Danny probably thought he was interested in Lydia now. “I don’t think you two know each other. Stiles, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is-”

       “Stiles Stilinski. Sheriff’s son. A minus student. Talented lacrosse midfielder. Scott’s best friend and the newest addition to the Jackson and Danny love club. I know who he is.” She paused her reading to look at him. She winked at his surprised expression. He felt exposed under her scrutiny. “Anyway, Stiles, what brings you to our lovely haven?”

       Right, he’s here for a reason. He makes sure Jackson is still perusing the same shelf before facing Danny. “I needed to speak to Danny about something…” When Lydia doesn't leave, he added, “personal.” She arched her eyebrow perfectly, a gesture that said ‘you’re having this conversation in front of me or not at all.’ Fine, he accepted his fate. He leaned his entire body closer, hoping that would stop the other tables from hearing. “So, I need help with a guy.” Lydia chuckled at him but, when he looked over, her attention returned back to the textbook.

       “Obviously, you came to the right place.” Danny leaned forward in his seat, dropping his phone on his bag. “Who’s the lucky guy? Unless, it’s me.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Then I have to say I’m flattered but, I’m still with Ethan. I’ll let you know if that changes.” Danny winked at him, laughing at his straight expression. Him and Danny? That’s even sillier than the idea of him and Jackson. “If it’s not me, than who? I’m not a mind reader, Stiles?”

      He groaned. Usually, Danny was far more perceptive than this. “Don’t make me say it Danny. That’s cruel.” Lydia’s rustling distracted him. He watched her tear out a new page from her notebook, scrawl a message, and shove it in Danny's direction. His eyebrows flew up after reading whatever she’d written to him. Stiles shifted over to read the words in front of him.

Lydia: It’s Jackson duh! Boys are idiots.

Danny: NOOOOOOO! Stiles has better taste than that right!?!

Stiles: Wrong.

       He stole the pen out of Danny’s hand to join the written conversation. Instead of speaking, they finished the conversation like this. Placing the paper in the middle of the table, where all three of them could see, they passed around the pen to whoever wanted it.

 **D** \- I guess it makes sense. Captain Amr + Stark have crazy chemistry too.

 **L** \- Stiles/ Jacks have chemistry!? Why didn’t anyone tell me this?

 **S** -Yeah! Why didn’t anyone tell me this? And why aren’t we speaking?

 **L** \- They hear all.

 **D** -You can say that again. 

 **L** -They hear all. 

       He had absolutely no idea who or what they’re talking about but, Jackson’s going to come back before he got any answers.

 **S** \- Guys! Hello!

 **L** \- Oh Right. Sweetie, no way in hell.

 **D** \- Gee Lyds, ruin his dreams why don’t you

 **L** -Just being honest. Even with his ambiguous orientation, Jackson doesn't do relationships.

 **D** \- *sigh* It's true.

 **S** -How do you know?

 **L** \- We dated.

 **S** -oh why'd you break up?

 **L** \- Never you mind.

 **S** \- Well, I never said I wanted a relationship

 **D** -So, you want in his pants??

 **L** -They’re nice pants. Tight. Firm. Designer. Ironed. Unlike yours Stilinski. -_-

       Stiles rolled his eyes. This conversation was going nowhere, fast. They’re lucky Jackson stopped at a table with a bunch of their lacrosse mates.

 **D** \- We tried. Believe me.

 **L** \- Clearly not hard enough

 **S** \- Hey! I’m wearing the leather jacket Jackson bought me. That counts for something!

       Both Lydia and Danny looked up from the notebook to check out his ensemble. He thought his outfit was awesome. It’s a mix between how they wanted him to dress and how he actually dressed. He wore dark jeans, a worn in black Batman shirt, and the leather jacket.

 **D** \- It’s a start. No worries. We’ll work with what we got.

 **S** \- You got a damn lot. I’m sexy!

 **L** \- Its adorable that you think so, darling

 **D** \- Shit incoming!!

       The three of them quickly shuffled around to hide the paper. In the end, Danny panicked, sliding it into the middle of a history book sitting in front of him. Stiles didn’t have time to question why Lydia hid her laughter behind her own textbook. He focused on getting his heart to stop all that fluttery business.

       “Stilinski. Nice jacket.” Jackson greeted him, with a casual (and rather cheerful) tone of voice. He slid into his seat, next to Danny. When he brought the textbook closer to his chest, their mistake suddenly dawned on him. He glared at Danny for possibly ruining his chances before he even started.. His friend smiled apologetically before gesturing for him to respond. Jackson watched them all, curiously. Only Stiles would die of mortification if he caught on. To save face, he shifted the frown into a cheeky smirk.

       “Thanks.” He glanced down at the leather. “The guy who brought it said it made me look sexy.” Danny dimpled at him, mouthing ‘good one!’ Stiles made sure to smile back before resting his eyes back on Jackson’s near amusement. There might be a frown on his face but, those eyes screamed ‘Oh Stiles, you’re so funny.

       “Well, that guy is a genius and I believe he said slightly more attractive.”

       “Isn’t that what I said?” He retorted, hoping that would get a rise out of him. Sure enough, with everyone as witness, Jackson cracked a smile before schooling his expression back to its emotionless state. Stiles mentally high fived himself. Lydia discreetly poked him in the side, letting him know his mental victory session wasn’t so mental. Whatever. The world deserved to know that Stiles Stilinski put a smile on Jackson Whittemore’s face.

       “Freak.” Jackson mumbled, rolling his eyes him. Stiles knew not to take the insult serious.

       “Now that Stiles is here.” Danny broke the silence, making them each focus on him. “I was wondering if he could take my place at the park this week. Ethan doesn’t work today and I haven’t seen him in like a week. You know, it’s an hour and a half drive and if I want to make it back before curfew, I need to leave right after school.” A million and one questions filled his brain. The first one being: what the hell are you talking about? He stayed silent, allowing them the best friend time.

       “You’re ditching me for grabby hands?” Jackson sulked, pouting at Danny in the hopes that he’ll change his mind. Danny resisted. “Fine, you any good on goal?” He gave up, directing the question to him.

       “Seeing as I’m a midfielder, no.” He said sarcastically. Jackson sighed, like Stiles was being the difficult one. He still hadn't told him what he’s agreeing to.

       “Since, we both can’t be on the field. We’ll switch. It’s not like you can handle cocky assholes anyway.”

       “He’s doing a pretty good job right now.” Lydia tossed out, gathering her books.

       “Can’t you say anything nice these days?” Jackson bickered back. Stiles could definitely see how these two dated. They were both pushy and opinionated.

      “Sure.” She pursed her lips, standing up. They all followed her lead. Right before they split to head their separate ways, Lydia smirked at them. “Stiles does look hot in leather. Good call.” Her words flitted to his ear, as the bell rang. She strolled away from them once she caught Allison in the hallway. He was never taking this jacket off again.

       Since Jackson shared his first period on Wednesdays and Danny’s class sat paralleled to theirs, they walked together. “I said slightly attractive.” Jackson grumbled, finishing their conversation. He smiled innocently at him. “Shut up. Just be at the Porsche after school and bring your long stick.” He knew Jackson had been referring to his long lacrosse stick but, the words were the perfect set up.

       “But, then I’d have two long ones and I don’t think the Porsche can hold all of it.”

       “OH!” Danny high-fived him over Jackson’s head enthusiastically. They cackled at his sour face. Jackson pushed ahead of them, stomping inside their classroom. Before he disappeared, he grumbled a string of vile words under his breath. Stiles ears heard the words “pervert” and “too early for this shit.” He chuckled, staring at the doorway where Jackson’s body once stood. Danny cleared his throat. Stiles blushed.

        “For the record, I think there’s a little chance in hell.” His words made no sense, until he remembered their written conversation. He sputtered, letting the thought percolate in his brain.

       “You mean? There’s a chance he might-” Danny cut him off with the clicking of his teeth.

       “Shh! They hear all, remember?” More of this hearing crap again. Stiles nods, thinking he’s referring to their classmates passing them to go in the class. “Text me how it goes. Later!” He nodded. They parted to enter their respective classrooms. He took a seat at his desk, not even bothering to fight the smile when he felt Jackson’s warm gaze on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Thank you for reading! I love all your kudos and comments! :)


	3. Little Leaguers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to his so-called friends, Stiles was completely unprepared for what’s waiting on him after school.

       Thanks to his so-called friends, Stiles was completely unprepared for what’s waiting on him after school, a field of little boys in miniature lacrosse uniforms. The second they spot Jackson stepping onto the field, they swarm him. In the commotion, Stiles was pushed to the side. It’s like he's not even here. He watched Jackson fist bump and high five the little children, wearing a kind smile on his face. Who would have thought? Jackson Whittemore, a kid person. Only after they've each personally had a moment with Jackson do they bombard him with questions. To Jackson’s credit, he tries to answer them all.

       “Where’s Danny?” Several of them demanded to know. Stiles was starting to get that Danny was loved as much (maybe even more) than their captain. “Danny’s busy today. He’ll be back next week.” They continued to huddle around him, making Stiles the awkward one on the side. He clutched his long stick, hoping this practice didn’t take long. He was so out of his element.

       “Who are you?” The littlest of the bunch, maybe six years old, broke away from the group to stand curiously in front of Stiles. The little boy leaned in to sniff him. A boy sniffed him! And, he had the nerve to look unapologetic. Stiles figured it would be rude to look away so, he tried to smile at him. A chuckle to his right meant that Jackson was watching him be sniffed by one of his kids. Asshole. Stiles snarled at him. The expression only pulled a deeper chuckle out of him. 

       “Alright! Time to get started.” Jackson declared, once he composed himself. The boys stood at attention. "Everybody on the bench."

        The fifteen or so boys ran towards the bleachers, pushing each other as they went. The littlest on, in front of him, sniffed him once more before running to join the others.

       “I hate you so much,” he huffed. Jackson smirked, dropping a hand on his shoulder as they walked. 

       “This is Stiles. He’ll be working with us today. Say hi.”

       “HEY STILES.” “HI STILES.” “SUP STILES,” an uneven chorus of high-potched screams assualted him. The last one came from the two eldest in the back. The eleven-year-old boys snickered into their palms. These must be the Jackson wannabees. He prays they won’t be in his group of midfielders. Jackson waited for the laughing to subside before he continued.

       “We’re gonna do things differently today. CHANDLER, get over here!” A short guy their age finished setting up the equipment before walking over. Stiles detected a slight limp to his walk. Chandler gave Stiles a friendly smile when he stopped in front of the group. “Can you be on goal today?” His face twisted in surprised at Jackson’s words. “He’s a midfielder.” He tossed a thumb his way. All Stiles could do was shrug. 

       “Yeah.” Chandler grinned brightly, looking overjoyed. “Only if you’re sure, though.”

       “Put your weight on the right side for the 'one-on-one' and when we break off, have them run Danny’s drills.” 

       “I can do that. Don’t expect any extra treatment, though.” He chuckled before swaying back in the direction of the field. Jackson immediately turned his attention back to the kids. They vibrated with excitement as he explained that he and Stiles would engage in a one on one game. He wanted them to observe their hand positions, feet placement, and the correct form for holding a stick. Afterwards, they were to discuss in their groups for five minutes.

       “Any questions?” The sniffer from earlier raised his hand slowly. Stiles felt obligated to turn his way, like the rest of the bunch. When he wasn't all up in his face, the kid was somewhat adorable. He reminded him of Scott: dark hair, round curious eyes, and a confused head tilt.

       “Oliver?” Jackson gestured to him. Oliver kept his eyes peeled to Stiles as he spoke. Stiles inhaled, expecting the worst.

       “Is he any good?” Oliver asked meekly. His eyes fell to the floor once the two Jackson wannabees in the back began to laugh at him. Right away, he decided Oliver was his new favorite, despite their unfortunate meeting. Since he made the decision to bond with the kid, he glared at the older boys until they submitted. Jackson ignored the entire scene. Instead, he tried to suppress his grimace with a smile. They all knew otherwise.

       “Why don’t you tell us?” He declared, managing to avoid the question. “Go ahead and get into your groups.” The leaguers shuffled around with uncontrollable excitement. “And no talking." The last part, Jackson directed more towards the two troublemakers. They nodded seriously.

       Stiles smirked up at the boys before following Jackson to a wooden bench right next to the outer track. They placed their bags and equipment on the bench, preparing for this “ _one on one.”_ For Stiles, that meant mentally prepping himself, like he does before all practices and games. They'd changed into fresh warm ups at Stiles's  house when they dropped off his car. For Jackson, preparing meant something else entirely.

        His eyes wandered to Jackson’s backside, as he ripped away his warm up pants. Sure, he'd checked out Jackson’s ass once or twice before but, the flimsy material of his shorts framed the curves of his ass perfectly. And, don’t even get him started on his calf muscles… They’d be perfect wrapped around his- nope. Stiles felt ashamed that he stood in the middle of this field, objectifying his friend in front of a group of six to twelve year old boys.

       A chuckle pulled him out of his mental ogling. “Two warm up laps, Stilinski.” Jackson spared him with a quick cackle and a firm incredulous headshake. Though his entire face burned with embarrassment, Stiles shrugged indifferently before taking off for the gravel track. Jackson immediately caught up to him. Side by side, their feet slapped against the gravel. After the first lap of silence, Stiles felt comfortable enough to talk.

        “So…little league, huh?” He chortled, around an even breath. The pace was slow enough that he didn’t have to use his advanced breathing techniques. Maybe, Jackson planned to conserve all his energy for the game. Jackson remained silent, which obviously didn’t work for him. He continued, “The Jackson Whittemore has a heart.” Jackson smirked at him.

       “So it’s been said. I wouldn’t get used to it.” There we go. Stiles wanted to pat himself on the back. Progress. Progress. Progress.

       “Not even you can come back from this.” He paused for a quick breath. “Every time you snarl at me, I’ll think of this moment.” Stiles winked, sprinting ahead a few feet to goad him. Again, Jackson caught up to him easily.

       “That’s a lot of thinking about me. I bet you secretly like it.” Whoa! If that wasn't flirty, then Stiles has been doing it wrong all this time. He faltered, only catching up when Jackson was few yards away from him. Jackson wore the smile on his face publicly. Usually, his expressions are masked with a straight face. Before Stiles could get a word in, he continued. “Don’t worry. When I handle your ass on my field, I’ll give you something to think about.”

       Stiles knew exactly what he meant. However, being that his mind vacationed in Guttersville, all he thought about is Jackson handling his ass in a way not suitable for little eyes. He covered up his train of thought with a snort. “It’s going to be harder than that if you want to make yourdream a reality. I was MVP last year, as a sophomore.” He bantered right back. He quickened the pace to show Jackson he wasn't some random bench-warmer on their team. Jackson seen the wall of lacrosse awards in his living room.

       “That’s why I made you bring your long stick.” He grinned. “We play dirty here.” With a wink of his own, Jackson sprinted off to finish the last stretch of the lap. Stiles chuckled to himself, watching Jackson fondly. Though, they waited patiently for him to finish the lap, grab his stupid long stick, and walk to the center of the field, he saw several of the boys snickering at him from the corner of his eyes. They'll see. By the time they were finished, all of Jackson’s boys would be praising him instead.

      The moment one of the boys sounded the whistle, Stiles was off. He pushed himself harder than ever to score the first goal, slotting the ball right passed Chandler. Even with the wrong stick, he was on fire. With the encouragement of the boys’ shouting, he scored three more points against him. Using one word to describe Jackson temperament, he’d go with **_PISSED._** His captain’s nose flared up, as he burned lasers into Stiles’s forehead. Stiles knew then that things were heating up. He couldn't help the goofy smile on his face. After that, they moved into something of a gridlock. No matter how hard the other tried, they couldn't score on one another. His legs were beginning to throb. Never had he worked so hard for a win before. Not even when his old school went to semi-finals last year. Usually, his natural talent did all the work.

       The one time he played it easy, Jackson snuck a goal around him. The choir of little leaguers praised his existence instead of Stiles's. He should be seething but, it’s only a game (and he’s still winning). They really loved it when Jackson started bowing for them. He, along with all the others, laughed at the show. Stiles watched him bow for his leaguers three more times, each time it became less funny. Finally, they had one more goal left. This one decided the winner. If he doesn’t take this one, Jackson will boast about it for a least a week. And, not just to him. First, he'd tell Danny, maybe even call him as soon as they hop in his little car. Then, he’d tell their entire team at tomorrow’s practice. After that, he’d tell Lydia and Allison. Hell, he might lift his ‘Never-Acknowledge-McCall’ lifestyle to tell him. Stiles refused to let that happen.

       All the talking and cheering silenced, leaving the atmosphere totally devoid of sound. Stiles gripped tightly onto the shaft of his stick. The anticipation for this last play sobered him completely. No laughs. No chuckles. No winks. They both ignored the other’s existence, choosing to settle all of their attention on the ball in from of them. He anticipated the little boy's whistle. Every face-off, the boy counted to seven before blowing. Gotta love the predictability in kids. 

 _Fweeeeee!_ The wind carried the sound directly to his ears but Stiles barely heard it. His focus remained on Jackson, who attempted to ram the miniature-sized ball from his mesh. He almost succeeded. As the ball began to fly from Stiles's cradle, he flicked it with the edge of his stick. Deep inhales swept over them and their audience. They watched the ball soar towards Chandler. To be fair, Chandler tried his best to block. The moment the ball slipped right through his legs, the leaguers erupted. A large smile took over the length of his face. He, Stiles Stilinski, was the one to handle Jackson’s ass on his own field with the wrong stick.

      Life felt good right about now. Life also hurt like a bitch. Stiles flung himself back, relishing in the warm cushion of grass. His private moment to stretch his muscles turned into a private second when a shadow blocked the warm sun. He opened his slowly eyes, fully expecting a wall of children or maybe an angry Jackson. What he didn’t expect was an amused Jackson. Although, there was a sliver of frustration hidden beneath his grin, he offered a hand down to help him up. 

        “We’re just getting started MVP.” Jackson’s white v-neck clung to him, drench with sweat. It must say something about Stiles that he found it outrageouly sexy. To avoid being caught staring appreciatively again, Stiles clasped his hand to pull himself up. With the quick full body stretch, his muscles felt well enough to brave it through the rest of practice. Jackson gestured for him to head towards the leaguers while he made sure Chandler’s knee didn’t require attention. It put a smile on his face when he felt Jackson’s gaze linger on his retreating back.

.....

       Surprisingly, their hour of practice flew by extremely quickly. After light mini warm-ups, his group of seven midfielders pestered him until he taught them better defensive moves. He let them practice on each other while making sure to give each one of them personal advice. Oddly enough, out of all seven, the most gifted midfielder was Oliver, or Ollie. Stiles earned the right to call him Ollie when the little dubbed him the _coolest-lacrosse-player-to-ever-lacrosse._ His words, not Stiles. That started a wave of compliments that made him feel on top of the world.

        When parents started arriving for pick up, Stiles was hesitant to make his goodbyes. He understood why Jackson came out here every week. The boys’s vibrant enthusiasm elated him. So what if his muscles screamed for an ice cold shower; he waited for the very last of his boys to walk off with their parents. Only after they left, Stiles grabbed his bag, stick, and pocketed Jackson’s keys. As always, Jackson's seats enveloped him softly. Before he could rest his eyes, a sleek black SUV pulled up alongside of the Porsche. Stiles thought nothing of it until a tiny voice started calling his name.

       “Are you coming back?” Ollie asked him expectantly from his spot in the back seat. “It’s just that we have to be with Jackson’s group since we don’t have a leader and they’re meanies.” Well, damn. How could he say no that? The sucker knew how to get what he wanted. Stiles smiled warmly at him and his father in the front seat. 

       “I’ll see you next week, Ollie.” A scream ripped through the atmosphere surrounding their two cars. Stiles waved goodbye to both Ollie and his father. Silence returned. After a hard workout, Stiles got like this. Any other time, he liked noise, movement, and laughter. Now, he wanted to sit in his bathtub, shut his eyes, and bask in the calming sound of ice sloshing together.

       “Couldn’t say no, huh?” Jackson slammed the door loudly. He probably knew he’d be ruining Stiles’s quiet time. He sighed dramatically.

       “He said something about douchebags and I caved.” He reciprocated. His eyes, not bothering to open and look at Jackson. Besides, he can picture the smarmy little grin on his face right now.

       “A six year old said douche bag? In the car with his dad?” He spoke with a hidden amusement that Stiles was well acquainted with. He grinned lazily. The fatigue was starting to capture his body.

       “Meanie. Douche Bag. They’re all the same.” At least, that's what he hoped escaped from his mouth. In reality, they probably sounded more like a stream of mumbles. Jackson snorted, letting the conversation trail off after that. Unlike the ride from his house to the school earlier, the silence resembled one of the comfortable nature. The sun lulled him into a peaceful rest as they drove. At one point, he vaguely heard Jackson’s voice and a rustling of paper. It wasn't until he heard his name that he forced himself to wake up.

       “Stilinski…I'm not dragging you into this house. Wake up!.” Jackson’s hand slapped firmly against his forearm, jolting him from the haziness of the sun.

       “Wha-home?” His voice was low and raspy. Squinting until his vision became clear; he realized that the car sat parked in the driveway of his house, right next to where Stiles parked the Jeep after school.

       “You gonna make it?” The sarcastic lint meant Jackson was attempting to make a joke but Stiles could hear the underlining concern. Stiles waved him off.

       “I’m chill. See ya tomorrow.” His feet sluggishly moved out of the car. One by one, he pulled his limbs up, until his body stood upright. Like the asshole he was, Jackson waited until he was on his porch to call out to him.

       “Stiles-” And, he actually used his first name. Fuck what Lydia thought she knew, he refused to believe there wasn't something here. He pivoted very slowly, making sure not to move his muscles too much. Somehow, Jackson was leaning against the passenger door, even though Stiles never heard a door shut. In his hands, he held a white generic take out bag and a drink. Stiles perked up at the sight; he knew exactly which place used those logo-less bags. The place with the best curly fries in all of Beacon Hills. “Here.” He walked the bag over to him. Stiles forced his feet to remain planted where they stood. He stopped so close to him that the outstretched back touched his chest. In a softest (most uncertain) voice that Still has even heard spill from Jackson's mouth, he said, “It’s thanks for today.” 

       Stiles inhaled, letting the smell caress his nose. He wore his delight plain on his face, suddenly not afraid to show Jackson how much he appreciated the gesture. “Thanks.” He smiled happily at the bag and Jackson’s relaxing expression. “I had fun." They stood there on his porch for some time, simply watching each other. He wasn't aware of what he should do in this situation. He decided to go big because going home wasn't an option. "You wanna come in? Scott brought over GTA and left it because he’s an adorable idiot.” He knew the invitation was risky, but he’s learned that Jackson was powerless against video games. Just like him.

       Stiles observed his apprehension with a hopeful expression. He thought he won when Jackson shoulders relaxed but then the worst thing to happened. His phone began to howl. Stiles has yet to find out who was on the other end of that odd ringtone but, they always have Jackson leaving shortly after he ends the call. 

       “I have to go.” He frowned slightly, probably pretending to sound remorseful for his sake. Stiles nodded. “I’m not against doing this some other time though.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at that. What is ‘this?’ Is ‘this’ teaching lacrosse to little leaguers? Is ‘this’ playing video games with Scott’s forgotten game? There were so many ways to interpret 'this'. He’d rather Jackson spell it out for him instead of jumping to conclusion. Jackson chuckled, as he walked backwards to his car. “You’re smart. Figure it out. Later Stilinski.” He popped down into his tiny car. Right before he sped off, leaving Stiles to watch him go, he yelled, “Rematch soon!”

       Well, Jackson was right about one thing. Stiles was smart and he was going to analyze the word until he'd narrowed his choices down to five different possibilities. He’ll start right after his curly fries are gone, Danny’s been debriefed on all progress, and his body was no longer rebelling against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading!!! I'm going to try to update often but, I don't know how well that's gonna go. I recently just lost someone close to me so, I'll be preoccupied with preparations and such. 
> 
> <3


	4. Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know it probably won't be easy right?" Danny asked him calmly. 
> 
> "Duh, it's Jackson." Stiles thought that was a given. "I can handle him. I have so far, right?" 
> 
> "This might be a shock to you but, you haven't actually met the real Jackson Whittemore. Even the car ride to the mall was him being nice. Think of this as your honeymoon phase. The way he is with you? That's like 50% of his actual personality. I know it sounds like I'm over-exaggerating but, I'm not. The real Jackson will come out of hiding soon enough. And, when he does, I want you to be prepared." Well shit. Well shit, Danny makes him sound like the Grinch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for letting this go idle for so long so, expect another chapter very soon. Like, tomorrow or Tuesday soon. Also, note that I changed the relationship tags. I'm feeling McLahey fits this better. :)

        When Stiles woke up from his three-hour nap, the first thing he did was reach for his phone. After much digging, he found it buried underneath the diner scraps from his awesome meal. Pressing the number three speed dial, he hoped Danny would actually pick up. Knowing him, he’s still with _Ethan._

        “I was waiting for your call,” Danny answered on the second ring. Somehow, he managed to be scolding and cheerful at the same time. Stiles will never understand how he works.  

        “Sorry. I was nappinng," he apologized and Danny chuckled.

        “Was it that good that you needed a nap? I’ve never been more proud of Jacks than I am right now!” Danny's outburst was so loud, it shifted into a shriek, making him shoot up from his lying position only to cringe at the pain. “And, you’re sore! So much pride, so much” 

        “Noo…stop that! Nothing happened and screw you for not telling me about the kids. Oliver sniffed me, Danny. He sniffed me!”

        “Clearly, he made an impression or you wouldn’t have remembered his name. Cute little bugger huh?”

        “That’s not the point.” Stiles knew he was acting like a child. Sure, he eventually had a good time but, the principle still counts. They should have told them.

        “Fine. Stop acting like a baby. I’m sorry. Now, will you tell me what happened?” He really did plan to withhold the details to punish him but he needed to tell somebody and Scott wasn't available. To his credit, Danny actually seemed remorseful. Stiles relented. He broke down and told him everything. Starting from their awkward change at his house, he relayed every important detail. No one knew the inside of Jackson’s head more than Danny did, so he wanted to use that as an advantage.

        “And, he said, and I quote, ‘When I handle your ass on my field, I’ll give you something to think about.’” Stiles giggled at Danny’s shriek of laughter. “It was crazy, Danny! Crazy!” Their laughs mixed into one symphony of laughter.

        “Oh my god.” Danny shouted between breaths. “Jackson hasn’t been this exciting since he thought he and Lydia were going to be the next Mr. & Mrs. Smith. That was in like seventh grade.” That thought did conflicting things to his mind. On one hand, he’s ecstatic to be the one to release this side of Jackson again. On the other, Lydia released it first. “What’s wrong? You got all quiet.”

        “Whatever happened with them anyway?” He told himself he asked out of curiosity. It’s not as if he’s jealous or anything. _He’s definitely jealous._

        “It’s probably not my place to tell you.”

        “Dannnnyyyyy!” He whined to get what he wanted. Danny hated whining. Danny's little sister was the Whining Queen. 

        “Fine! They've been on and off since middle school, but it was dysfunctional and unhealthy and a whole lot of other horribly wrong things that I can't think of right now. But, they made sense, you know? But, last year... got a little rough and Jacks was in some heavy shit that only Lydia could pull him out of. I guess, after everything went back to normal, they realized they had to stop being so shitty towards each other. And that was that.”

        “What does that even mean?! They turned it off, just like that?” Stiles didn’t believe it one bit. Two people with that much history didnn’t just stop caring about one another.

        “To be honest, until you came, I was still convinced they were creeping behind our backs.” _Huh,_ Stiles thought, frowning.

        “And now?” He hates how serious he sounds.

        “Even if they were, they aren't now. I know that for a fact. Don't ask me how.” Stiles smiled at that. Maybe, he does actually have a chance. “Look, Lydia was right though. Jackson is... difficult.” Or not. Stiles sighed; they keep jerking him around. One minute he has a chance and the next he doesn't. “We're cool, Stiles so Imma be real honest for a minute.” This didn’t sound good at all. Danny’s voice dropped an octave and any amusement he expressed was completely gone. Stiles pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “I love him but, Jackson’s got some issues. When he was little, his parents adopted him. They give him everything he wants and even things he doesn't want but they're not the most attentive parents ever.. To get their attention, he always tried to be the best stereotypical son that he can be. Good grades, beast athletic skills, etc. Since his father is a slight homophobe…” Danny doesn’t have to finish that thought, Stiles understood. He also gets why this is a difficult topic for Danny. He can’t imagine feeling unwelcomed by his best friend’s father. Even when they lived in New York, his friends’ parents were accepting of his bisexuality. Plus, he's only met Scott’s mom a handle full of times but she always gives him a warm hug. “Jackson’s never acted on his attraction to guys.” The heavy words reign over them in silence. Danny’s right. From first glance, Stiles would have never known the torment Jackson goes through. "That's not to say he won't with you. Who knows? Maybe, he won't be able to resist that Stilinski charm you're always boasting about."

         Stiles snorted, feeling the heavy weight lift off of his shoulders.

         “Anyway, I can totally envision it. You and him. It’d be hilarious and extremely entertaining but, awesome.”

        “Yeah? Maybe.”

        "You know it probably won't be easy right?" Danny asked him calmly. 

        "Duh, it's Jackson." He thought that was a given. Stiles thought that was a given. "I can handle Jackson. I have so far, right?" 

        "This might be a shock to you but, you haven't actually met the real Jackson Whittemore. Even the car ride to the mall was him being nice. Think of this as your honeymoon phase. The way he is with you? That's like 50% of his actual personality. I know it sounds like I'm over-exaggerating but, I'm not." Well shit, Danny makes him sound like the Grinch.

        "If he's so horrible, then why do you still put up with his douche baggery?" He's pretty sure that not a word but, it fits. 

        "He would do anything for me and I don't know anyone more loyal than him. Even my family." Interesting. He was dying to finish their conversation but, the front door creaked open downstairs.That could only mean one thing. His dad is never home on a Friday night before midnight. It’s eight pm. “That escalated quickly. I’m just getting back to Beacon Hills, you want to go to this-” 

        “Sounds awesome but my dad’s home!” He cheered into the phone. “Let’s do something tomorrow, yeah?”

        “Sure. Have fun with your dad. I’ll text you.”

        “Awesome. See you tomorow.” He tossed the device on the bed before tearing through the house. His muscles screamed the entire journey but, his father was more important. It’s been forever since him and his dad spent time together. He’s not one of those kids that hides how much he loves his father. “Dad!” He hopped on his back as he passed the stairs. It felt good to hear his laugh. Maybe, coming to Beacon Hills was the right move for both of them.

        “Stiles! You aren’t five anymore. Try not to break my back.” The sheriff grinned, poking him into his abdomen. Whatever. His dad was the strongest man he knew. Despite what he demanded, Stiles clung on until the he threw him on his back. He hit the couch cushion softly. Stiles watched his father sink down onto his armchair with that grin plastered on his face. Something happened.

        “Ok. What’s going on? Home before midnight. Grinning like we won the lottery. Nope. Abnormal behavior.” He poked his toes into his dad’s side. 

        “Who is the dad? Me or you?” He gaves Stiles that _behave_ expression. He hasn't seen that in weeks.

        “Ha ha. Very funny! Tell your _son_ Stiles the big news.”

        “Fine. You are going to find out anyway. I have a date.” His cheeks reddened slightly reminding Stiles so much of his own expression. He gaped at his dad with a goofy grin. This is so much more than he was expecting.

        “Holy sh-crap!” He corrected his self at the last minute. His dad awarded him a playful smack across the neck for his almost curse word. “This is huge! Who with? When? I didn’t know you were ready to date! Where are you taking her? It has to be somewhere classy, dad. Maybe, Danny knows a place. He goes on lots of dates.” He’s so excited the energy is pulping through his veins. For years, he’d been telling his father to get back out there. He will always miss his mom but his dad’s loneliness was starting to get annoying. 

        “Calm down son.” The soothing voice stopped the barrage of questions and thoughts from spilling out of his mouth. Stiles took a small breather, relaxing further into the sofa. “You scared me just then.”

        “Sorry, it’s been a good day for me too.” He responded, slightly more controlled. “So? I want details.”

        “Her name is Melissa McCall. She’s a nurse-” Oh my god. This is too good to be true.

        “YOU’RE GOING ON A DATE WITH SCOTT’S MOM!” He really didn’t mean to frighten his father with the outburst. His dad clutched onto his heart as his eyes widened. He felt only a little remorseful. Most of his brain was reminding him to call Scot as soon as possible. They scheme together.

        “Scott? Your buddy from school?” His dad spoke only after he slows his heart rate. Then, he remembered; his dad has yet to meet any of his friends. He worked all the time.

        “Buddy?” He didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Scott is my best friend, dad! If you marry Miss McCall, Scott and I will be brothers. So, get on that.”

        “We haven’t even had our first date. I’m not going to ‘ _get on that.’”_ He sounded so funny (and inappropriate) mimicking his words. “Sorry, that sounded ridiculous coming out of my mouth.” Stiles chuckled at his father’s disgust in himself.

        “I can say things like that because I’m pure, father.”

        “Right. Like I believe that.” He side-eyed him. “Anyway, I was thinking about something low key. Maybe, a cooked meal?”

        “But…you don’t cook.” His dad grinned at him. Stiles groaned. He’s starting to realize why his dad is home earlier. “Dad, that’s just pathetic! You can’t use your son’s amazing cooking skills to provide for your date. It’s like I’m going on a date with Miss McCall. Gross.” He gagged.

        “Stiles! There is nothing gross about Melissa.” Woah. Stiles reared back at his sudden hard tone.  

        “Aww, look at you defending your woman. Ok, I’ll help you but if I’m cooking for you then you should at least know what you’re making her. Let's go.” He headed for the door before his father denied him. Since he carried the upper hand, Stiles grabbed the keys for the jeep. His dad, who calls him The Deathtrap, never stepped foot inside. Stiles planned to milk this favor for as long as he can.

         A few moments later, his dad curled his bulky frame into the passenger seat of the Jeep. Satisfied with life, Stiles even let him turn off the Top 40 radio station he listen to on the way to and from school. The Jeep is quiet as he drove them to Wal-Mart. It gave him a few minutes to think further about his conversation with Danny earlier. If what he’s said is true, then he really should worry about the notes hidden somewhere inside of Jackson’s history textbook. Maybe, he’ll bump into him on Monday, and pretend he grabbed the wrong book. Talking to him about it directly is not an option. He knows now that anything that might happen has to be on Jackson’s terms. If he pushes too far, the entire thing might explode.

        “Umm son? Why are we still sitting in the car?” Right. Now’s the time to deal with his father’s love life. _Get it together Stiles,_ he told himself. Side by side, they walked into the lively store. He’s never seen this many people in Wal-Mart. Then again, it’s a Friday night. They are probably pre-gaming for the weekend.

        "You said you had a good day? What happened?" Stiles relayed his day again per his father's orders. He omitted most of the personal Jackson details but, he did tell him about the Little League. "I'm going to go back next week." He told him with confidence. 

        "That sounds great.You did good making those boys' day." He preened under his father's approving smile. 

        “What about you, father o’ mine. What does Miss McCall like to eat?” That’s the million-dollar question. He grabbed a buggy while he waited for his father’s answer. It was clear to Stiles that his father didn’t know either when they walked past four aisles without him answering. “Ugh! Do I have to do everything?” He demanded jokingly. He pulled out his phone and hit the #2-speed dial. Awesome Scott picked up immediately. In the background, he could hear people shouting.

        “Scott, are you at a party? Without me?”

        “No. Allison invited me over to talk about something and Lydia showed up with a bunch of people.” The story sounds believable but Stiles wasn’t convinced. Whatever, he’d think about why he could be lying later.

        “Whatever.” He waved it off, letting Scott know he was off the hook. For now. “Did you know best friend that we’ll be brothers someday?”

        “Oh yeah?” He heard the grin seeping through his voice. “How?”

        “Papa Stilinski and Mama McCall will be going on their very first date, tomorrow evening.” Behind him, his dad sighed deeply. He might as well get used to them. They’re all going to be one happy family someday. He shot a ‘thumbs up’ to his father as Scott started freaking out. His antics paralleled Stiles’s mini freak out moment perfectly.

        “Holy hell!! How come I don’t know about this, Stiles?”

        “Maybe, because you’re at a party.” He shrugged, unapologetically.

        “I’m not at a party! All I want to do is talk to Allison!” Still not believable... For show, Stiles clicked his teeth.

        “I know, buddy. I know.” He should be an actor. Mostly because, he know Scott thinks he’s still pining over Allison. Key word: thinks. Stiles has a suspicion that he likes someone else. “Anyway, what does your mom like to eat?”

        “Umm… I don’t know. Food?” They turned into the baking aisle. Oh, that’s not actually a bad idea, he thought. He has an amazing Triple Chocolate Pumpkin Pie recipes he saved the other day. His dad and Miss McCall can be his guinea pigs before he decides if it should be on their Thanksgiving dinner meal. 

        “Scott! That’s not acceptable.” His dad chuckled at his side. Stiles snapped his finger at him, gesturing to the brown sugar by his dad's hand. 

        “Ummm, well she doesn’t eat red meat and-” A loud noise in the background interrupted his thinking. Stiles listened closely to make out the words.

        “- Is that Erica and Jackson? Tell them to get me Mexican. I love Mexican and I’m hungryyy.”

        “Isaac, shut up.” Scott murmured to him. Stiles could tell he was cupping the mouthpiece on his phone. That won’t work on him. He’s the sheriff’s son. For the life of him, he couldn’t think about why this Isaac would think he was Jackson and a girl named Erica. Also, why is Scott talking to Jackson, anyway? Isn't Jackson doing him Friday family night thing. And, Isaac? Stiles wondered if he was the same Isaac on the lacrosse team that he’s caught Scott staring at a few times. Probably. Scott has some explaining to do. First, he'd solve the first date debacle before thinking about this.

        “Please, Scott! I’m hungry! You don’t want me to be hungry, do you?” The softness in his voice shocked Stiles. At practice, Isaac’s always sounded so harsh and defensive. Half of time, he can’t tell if his jokes are jokes or threats. The true shock is Scott's immediate response. Clearly, Isaac’s not some random person Lydia’s dragged along.

        “Fine, I’ll call them when I’m finished. Just go away. Please. I'm talking to Stiles.” They sound close…intimate. Scott sighs, giving in almost immediately.  

        “Rude. You're always talking to Stiles. Never any time for me.” His voice tapers off at the end until it’s gone completely. Damn straight. Stiles got Scott all to himself. Stiles chuckled, despite his aggravation. Scott’s keeping secrets from him.

        “Sorry about that.” Stiles pulls himself together. “What’s funny?”

        The only thing he can do right now is act unaffected. “Oh my dad told me a joke.” His dad shook his head disapprovingly in his direction. Right now, his father is the lesser of two evils.

        “Oh," Scott chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me it later but, she really likes Chicken Parmesan or anything Italian really.” Italian, he could do. Italian was his mom’s favorite cuisine too. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it that might backfire on them.

        “Anything else?”

        “We go to that Indian restaurant on main a lot. I think she gets the curry chicken or something.”

        “That’s perfect. Thanks bud. Have fun at your party.” He hung up right as Scott’s trying to convince him it’s not a party. “So, Miss McCall really loves Curry Chicken. Seeing as you like it too, I say that’s what we go with. Cool?” He sped away before his dad can interrogate him on what happened. He almost forgets about the entire thing by the time they pick up all the necessary ingredients. Of course, that’s the moment they literally collide with Jackson. Their buggies almost toppled over as they clang together. Stiles struggled to right it before his eggs fell out. That's the last thing they needed right now. 

        “Watch where you’re going, bitch.” Jackson’s mouth slammed shut once he got a good look at he and his father. “Oh uh-sorry about that.” He frantically glanced between him and his dad. It was extremely awkward. Stiles felt torn between talking to Jackson and escaping far away from this situation. 

        “Hey Jackson.” He rocked on his feet. He gestured to the two of them. “Dad, this is a good friend of mine. Jackson, this is dad.”

        “The sheriff.” His father added, grimacing. Yeah, this wasn’t going to end well.

        “The nice, kind sheriff who needs his son’s help dearly.”

    His dad rolled his eyes, diminishing whatever image he was trying to project. “Hello Jackson.” Watching them attempt to shake hands over their collided carts amused him greatly. Stiles hid his laugh behind a cough. That resulted in glares from both of them. He feels no remorse.

        “It’s nice to meet you sir.” At least, he knew basic manners. Danny must have taught him that. The joke sat on the edge of his tongue. A clicking of heels stopped him. Erica. Stiles hears her before he sees her. She's around the corner but, she's still talking to Jackson, as if they're right next to one another. 

        “Found the pretzels and I talked to McCall. He says Isaac wants Mexican. Really? Like, how can he not see through that. What we should get them is a box of condoms and some lube with a bow on it. I guarantee he won't be hungry after that." Stiles closed his eyes to stop from groaning in embarrassment. He can't even imagine how his dad must be reacting. "They're driving me insane with all their hormones. It smells repulsive, too. Oh. hi." She causally greets them as if she wasn't talking about condoms and lube in front of the Sheriff of Beacon Hill. Erica's their age but, he's never seen her before. He would have definitely remembered if he had. She’s Lydia level of perfect only in a wild and unashamed way. Stiles eyed her, taking in her leopard print high heels, her short black leather mini-skirt, tight white tank top, and leather jacket. She’s gorgeous but, also really scary. The devious grin she tossed Stiles and his dad told him to stay the fuck away. 

        All three of them glanced at Jackson, hoping he’d make the necessary introductions. It’s just like him to stare back at them with a _‘what’_ expression. Stile frowned at the up-turned eyebrow seated high above his eye.

         Stiles can only imagine what his dad must think of Jackson. “He’s a work in progress, dad. I promise it’s not this bad.”

        “He really is.” Erica beamed at his father. “Stiles is conditioned to his stellar personality.” His dad laughed with her as they shake hands. She slid her outstretched palm in Stiles’s direction. “I’m Erica. Yes, I know who you are. No, it’s not creepy; they talk about you all the time. No, I don’t go to BHHS. I’m homeschooled. My parents couldn’t let their _epileptic baby go to that horrid_ _school anymore._ But yes, we can still be friends. I look forward to it.” She winked in his direction. Stiles took it back. He decided he liked her…spunk. He thought there was no one else in the world who talked more than he did. He was wrong. Stiles shook her hand twice before pulling away. “So, what are you gentleman doing at Wal-Mart on this wonderful Friday evening?”

        “Well, my dad is going to make Miss McCall an honest woman tomorrow.” He jumped away before his dad smacked him again. He landed next to Jackson, unsurprisingly. “I’m their designated chef.” Stiles poked his tongue at his dad since the two carts separated them. He’ll deal with the aftermath of his actions later.

        “That’s nice of you.”  

        “Thank you, Erica.” He grinned at her. She flashed white pearly teeth in his direction. “What about you?” However, he already knew they were on a food run.

        “Food run. You know, we’re having a thing tonight, if you-” So, there was a party. Stiles perked up. That’ll show Scott, when he rolls up with Erica and Jackson.

        “No. He's not invited.” Jackson's words rip through him. He tried to push away the immediate disappointment that spread through his body. He thought they moved passed this stage. Especially, after today. Whatever, if Jackson didn’t want him there, then he wasn't going to be there. Jackson must have realized how his words came across. He pivoted to Stiles with an unreadable expression. Was he suppose to understand what that meant? If so, he failed. Jackson groaned, upset with him. HE SHOULD BE THE UPSET ONE! “I just meant-” He halted, his eyes returning to that hard, defensive glare. “Whatever. Nice to meet you, Mr. Stilinski.” He took off with the cart without another glance or word in his direction.

        “That was weird. Even for Jackson.” Erica looked curiously off in the direction he’d gone. She scrutinized Stiles with that same curiosity. He thought Lydia’s calculating gaze was tough. She has nothing on Erica. He trained his eyes everywhere except in her eyes. One look and Stiles might succumb to her thirst for knowledge. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the Music Festival down in Rollins. You should come, Stiles.”

        “Jackson wouldn't want that.”

        “Maybe but if we did things based on Jackson’s wants, nothing would ever get accomplished. Think about it.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll come by at noon to pick you up, if you don’t come out the house, then that’s fine. Have fun on your date, Sheriff.” She smiled warmly at both of them before strutting after Jackson. Not even a second later, they heard a giant smack.

        “OWW! What the fuck was that for?” Jackson’s voice. Stiles and his dad snapped their heads to look at each other. Stiles half expected his father to break it up, as a pledged servant to the Beacon Hills community. To his surprise, his father chuckled, pulling him towards the aisle. "He deserved it." His father whispered. Stiles chuckled, following him towards check out.  They passed Jackson and Erica’s aisle as she started ripping into him.

        “Now, he thinks you don’t like him, dumbass! Don't worry. We'll fix this!” Who is 'we?' He's had enough of this ridiculousness tonight. Tonight is all about him and his father. They sped through self-checkout to flee from the store. It wasn’t until he was home that he felt better. Out of sight- out of mind. Only that wasn’t so true. Jackson’s cold reaction was the only thing on his mind. They alternated between bringing groceries in the house and sorting items where they belonged. He moved in silence as, they finished setting up the kitchen.

        “I’ll start tomorrow morning. Wanna help?” He asked out of obligation.

        “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to catch up on some sleep so I’ll be well rested for tomorrow night.” Stiles knew he was missing the opportunity for a perfectly good innuendo. He just wasn’t feeling it right now. Stiles nodded once and headed for the stairs.  

        “Stiles.” He turned back to his dad’s call. “I think you’re too good for that boy but, you should go tomorrow anyway."

        "You just want me out of the house, old man." His dad laughed. 

        "True but, Stilinski’s don’t give up or back down, right?” He nodded in agreement. “Good.” His dad grinned. Stiles felt a smile creep across his face.

        “I miss you dad.” The words slipped through his mouth. He hadn't planned on saying that. 

        “Miss you too. I promise we'll make more time to see each other. I don't need you becoming some foul mouth delinquent.” Stiles grinned, feeling better already.

        "They do have a certain charm, huh? I met my people."

        "Just don't let your _people_ land you in my precinct. Yeah?" He nodded serious, knowing that his father was warning him to behave in the Stilinski way. They've always had a level of trust between them and Stiles's couldn't jeopardize that. His dad bid him a goodnight before heading back into the kitchen. Stiles headed to his room one autopilot, turning off the lights when he stepped inside. He tossed the food scraps into the trash with a lump in his throat. He always knew Jackson was an asshole. Only, somehow he forgot with how well things have been going. Tonight was a helpful reminder. If he wanted to be with him, he needed to act tougher than that. How did he think Lydia Martin lasted so long? She didn't take shit from no one. Especially, not Jackson Whittemore. He's allowing whatever this is to soften him. If Jackson had been anyone else, Stiles would have flicked them off and accepted her invitation. He chuckled to himself. Only he would be more pissed about how he handled the situation, then how Jackson treated him. Stiles pushed the Jackson thing to the back of his mind. He laid in the bed, thinking about nothing for an hour, trying to drift off to sleep. Thankfully, an incoming text message distracted him. Unknown number. 

_It’s Erica. Don’t worry about how I got your number. Wear somethin sexy tomorrow ;)_

        He just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And, extra kudos to you for all the kudos and comments!! They put a smile on my face.  
> :D


	5. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't on a date! So, why does everyone keep calling it one? It's not a date right? It's a date. Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Holy Crap! I finally finished. This one is monster. You think I'm joking. Cute. You'll see. My imagination just wouldn't cease for this chapter.

_Stiles! Stiles! Stilessss!_

        “Erica?” He whispered. Who invited Erica into his dream? She’s not supposed to be here, hovering over him while Faceless Handsome Stranger (Jackson) ran kisses down his back. One casual run-in with this girl and she’s already taking over his life. Stiles tried to shoo her face with his palm.  She bit his hand. “No. Erica nobody invited you.” Stiles groaned. 

       Faceless Handsome Stranger (Jackson) grunted. Really? Stiles could use more help than a measly grunt. It wasn't even a sexy ‘I-want-you-grunt.’ Even his dream Jackson rejected him.  _Not you to dream Jackson, not you too._ There must be one person in this world that wants him. 

       “Awww, Stiles I want you.” Erica purred in his ear. Noooo. This was all wrong. “I want you to get the fuck up and stop dreaming about Jackson!” Oh. Wait. That didn’t make any sense. “It’s like 12:40 and we’re late!” That’s the final whine to do it. Stiles jolted forward, away from his dream and into reality. Erica pulled away from his bed with a satisfied smirk.

       “How. Why. What?” 

       “No talking. Get in the shower, wear the clothes I set out for you, and if you do it quickly, we’ll stop for breakfast. Chop Chop!” She gave him absolutely no time to protest. To figure out why the hell she was in his home. She fluffed his gross bed hair before flouncing out his room. He pondered which part of this scene was worse. That she felt comfortable enough in his home to know his house layout. Or that he’s not more concerned. His phone vibrated with a text message on his nightstand. Stiles gripped it, almost afraid of what the message would relay.

_Don’t make me have to come up there again._

       Ok. It’s official. Erica is a scary woman. He planned to take his sweet time just to fuck with her but, his dad’s date popped into his head. Holy shit! Stiles rushed through his morning routine.

  * Shower?  _Check._ _  
_
  * Shave? _Don’t have time for that._
  * Brush teeth? _Duh._
  * Wear the clothes Erica hung up on the door? _OMG, why are these pants so tight._



       The finishing product looked…amazing. He’s not ashamed to admit he admires himself longer than necessary. Erica has him wearing extra tight khaki pants, a soft gray shirt under a red plaid button down, and his leather jacket. The boots are a nice touch too. He remembered telling Danny he’d never wear them. Now that he knows the leather shoes look and feels this good, he might never take them off. The only kink in his ensemble is the mop of drying hair on his head. Since he’s already spent an excessive amount of time ogling his look, he threw on the one gray beanie he owns. He made it downstairs fourteen minutes later. He blamed the pants…and the ogling. Rounding into his living room, Stiles picked out three distinctly different female voices. of course. 

       “Stiles. We want to see the clothes. Come on!” He stepped into the kitchen on Erica’s orders. The three of them, Erica, Lydia, and Allison stop their conversation to gawk at him.

       “Hot damn.” Erica motioned for him to spin. She propped herself up on to the kitchen counter, fanning her face dramatically. Stiles chuckled at her forwardness before focusing on Lydia, who sat poised at his kitchen table. She gave him two looks, one up and one down. 

       "Cute. Loose the beanie.” She nodded, without smiling. Stiles can already tell she’ll be a tough one to crack. It’ll feel great when that beautiful smile focuses on him. “Stiles. Meet Allison. Allison. Stiles.” Stiles spun around to finally meet Scott's ex-girlfriend. They needed to have a dimple competition between her and Danny. Stiles smiled, shaking her hand. 

       “I’ve heard a lot about you, from many different people. All good things. How did you get into my house exactly?”

       “Danny had a key.” Lydia informed him, stuffing her phone neatly into her miniature purse. Stiles sputtered for words. How in the hell did Danny get a key?!?! “We should go. We’re already late and it’s an hour drive to Rollins.” Erica herded him towards his front door. She ran her touchy hands over his body as they walked, smoothing out any wrinkles in his clothes.

        “Wait!” He almost forgot. “I can’t. I promised my dad I’d cook dinner for him tonight.”

       “Your dishes are in the fridge, labeled. The pie is covered, cooling on the table. Also, labeled. Fresh lemonade is chilling in the fridge. Labeled once again. Finally, the table has been de-cluttered and thick vanilla scented candles are adorned as the centerpiece.” Stiles gaped at her, wide-eyed.

        “Wow. You guys didn’t have to do all that for me.” He hugged all three of them close to his chest. They protested until he let them go.

      “Repay us by picking up those feet, getting into Allison’s car, and fixing your shit with Jackson. Instead of just being bitchy, he’s silent, broody, and bitchy.” Lydia told him. The other two smiled and chuckled behind her. “Can we go now? They’re probably going to beat us and they literally just left.”

        “Wait really? Jackson?” He’s too shocked for words. 

       “Wow. You are so unequipped for this.” Lydia grimaced. She physically pushed him outside. They worked as a team to get him into Allison’s car. Allison kindly stole his keys to lock his front door. Erica guided him to the car, making sure he didn’t endanger himself on the way. 

        “We’ll discuss it on the way.” She pushed him down into the backseat, sliding in behind him. “Fixing you boys’ problems is practically our specialty.”

* * *

 

 _Do something about him. He’s ruining the mood._ Stiles cackled at Erica’s message. He knew she'd text him soon or later. For the past hour, the group has been inching away from Jackson’s spot on the King-Sized comfortable. Stiles spared a glance at him. He barely moved an inch since Stiles's last look, thirty minutes ago. With his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, Jackson stretched out on the blanket. He's taken it upon himself to glare at anyone who dare look at him. Stiles included. He sighed, deleting the message before settling back on his elbows.

       Today marked the first day he felt bored around the group. During the car ride, they relayed stories about the awesome Rollins Music Festival. They've done nothing but, lounge around under the sun and listen to the crappy music. Scotty told him they saved the more famous (and talented) bands for later that night. Well, what was he expected to do for the next four hours? It’s 4:30 in the afternoon now. His only two sources of entertainment, Danny and Scott, magically disappeared an hour ago. Since then, they've sent him picture after picture of all the fun they're having. Who comes this far to bake in the sun? Not him. 

       “I think I’m going to walk around. Any takers?” Being courteous, he stretched the invitation to everyone. As expected, no one looked up from their _interesting_ conversations. Bore. They could have conversations back in Beacon Hills, an hour and a half away. “Jackson?” This time, he forced himself to make eye contact with Jackson. His friend watched him back. This silly silent treatment between them was bullshit when there was no one else he’d rather talk too. He smiled. _Take the olive branch, dammit!_  

          Jackson shrugged his shoulders silently. “Awesome. Come on.” Stiles grinned, stepping over the pile of bodies left on the blanket. 

         “Have fun!” Lydia, Allison, and Erica called over their shoulders at their retreating backs. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

       “I bet you will!” Stiles shouted back. They strode across the grass in silence. He figured, after last night, things between them might be strained. He planned to annoy Jackson until they returned to normal. “I say we strike a deal.” Stiles nudged Jackson in the side, choosing to ignore his eye roll. “You do everything I want for the rest of the day and we’ll forget last night ever happened.”

       He chanced a glance at his expression. Should he have expected anything else besides his bitch glare? Nope. Stiles burned with the desire to smooth the anger from his face. His features were much more beautiful when he smiled. Except for the occasional bumps, on and off the field, they’ve never touched. In favor of his safety, Stiles settled for grinning wildly.  “Oh come on. You know you’d rather be with me anyway, now that Danny’s off with his boyfriend.” That got a rise out of him. Jackson’s head cocked to the side ever so slightly. If Stiles squinted, he could make out the miniature smile of his lips.

        “What gave you that idea?” It’s the first time Jackson’s spoken today, according to Danny's debriefing session on their car ride. 

        “Oh please. I’m your best friend after Danny. Best friends fight. Then, they make up. This is us making up.”  Where was he getting this material? He was on a roll. Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “So what do you say? You. Me. A Music Festival with shitty music. That sounds pretty awesome.”

       “You’re ridiculous.” He murmured but there’s no mistaking the grin on that face. “Fine, deal.” Stiles blessed the people of Rollins, CA with an original Victory dance. Rolling his body, he bumped into a boy with Temporary Ninja Turtle tattoos dotting up and down his arms.

       “Oops. Sorry dude.” The boy turned around to flick them off before storming away from the line he was waiting in. Stiles felt bad for angering some kid but, he apologized. What line where they standing in, anyway?  He looked above their heads. **FACE PAINTING!** Oh, awesome! Instead of continuing down the path of booths and tents, he planted his feet where the tattooed boy used to stand.

        “God. You’re like a hazard to society, Stilinski.” Jackson smirked at his embarrassed grin.  "Why are we still standing here, anyway?” He kept his arms folded tightly against his chest.

        “Why do you think, Whittemore? I’m making good on my time.” His eyes glinted in delight to watch Jackson’s shocking realization of where they were. His jaw clenched so tightly, Stiles thought his veins could pop. And, those adorable Cerulean blue eyes? Yeah, they were dark, squinty, and currently lighting his skin on fire. Nonetheless, a deal’s a deal. 

       “No. I’m going back.” He tried to pull away; Stiles gave him that but, where Jackson was strong, he was fast. Gripping his hand tightly around Jackson’s wris, he stopped him. He ignored the quick rhythmic “lub-dub” of his pulse.

        “Nope. For the next two hours, your ass is mine.” That sounded much different in his head, less pervy. He saw how his father felt last night. Stiles stared wide eyed with his mouth covered, as if he could gobble the words back up. They floated between them, though. If Jackson’s eyebrows rose any higher, they’d be floating too. In this moment, he wished for telepathic abilities. Without them, Stiles was scrambling for any emotion other than the utterly shocked expression worn on Jackson’s face. He scratched his head with the hand not still clutching on to Jackson’s wrist. WHY WAS HE STILL HOLDING ON TO THIS THING? He yanked his hand away immediately.

       “We don’t have all day! Go!” A young girl’s high-pitched voice shouted at them from behind. There was a large gap between them and the front of the tent. 

       “Next two!” Stiles grinned at the bored teenager. He rolled his eyes, holding back the tent’s tarp for them to enter. If Jackson wanted to go, he’d let him. Stiles thought he was going to step into the long, narrow tent by himself. He hid a satisfied smile when Jackson stalked in behind him.

        Inside the tent, the face painters organized themselves into multiple stations, divided by curtains. A constricted walkway led down the side, forcing them to walk in a single file. Two girls at the very end, near the exit, motioned for them to come down. The one closest to the exit grinned at Stiles appreciatively. That’s never happened to him when he’s near Jackson. He flashed a satisfied smile over his shoulder, making sure Jackson saw.

       “Shut up.” Jackson growled, pressing closer to his back. That worked for him. Jackson was jealous. Stiles tested his theory. He chuckled at the deep groan as he flipped his most charming smile on the girl. Before they reached the girls, Stiles pushed back against his front. Standing a few inches taller than Jackson, he lightly tapped his tush against the seam of Jackson's jeans. Stiles pulled away smoothly. Getting arrested for public indecency was exactly what his father warned him against.

       “I hope you brought cash, dude. See ya on the flipside.” He skipped off before Jackson had the chance to protest. His admirer beamed at him when he chose her over the other girl.

       “Hey. Take a seat.” She patted the chair, waiting for him. He slid down, suddenly feeling reserved about being so close to a stranger. In his attempts to fuck with Jackson, he forgot about the third party, her. “You can draw the curtain if you would like.” She spoke to him casually. 

       “We can leave it op-,” He was in the process of telling her, when the noisy plastic slapped into place. “Or, not. Eager for privacy, Jackson? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His girl chuckled at the low huff coming from the other side.

       “Ok then. What are you feeling?” She grinned at him, nervously. The pseudo-privacy was definitely getting to her. He busied himself by flipping through the design book she slid into his lap. “Obviously, we do simple face designs that run from 10 to 20. We also do arm designs. Those typically run about 10 to 15. The more complex designs are higher but the maximum is forty dollars.” None of the pre-made designs interest him. He nodded his head while she rambled on about other ideas. Apparently, you can get a name for five dollars. Interesting. Not that he would **ever** do that, right? “I’m pretty good at face masks, if you want that. A kid just left with a tiger. It was pretty cute.” He stopped her there.

       “Can you do superheroes?” 

       “Sure, we talking Marvel or DC?” She responded with a shrug, as if everyone knews the difference.

       A goofy smile stretched across his face. “Marvel. Captain America.”

       “Sure, it’ll be $25, though.” He waved her off, setting the book back on the floor where it originally lay. She wasted no time getting him started. After a quick adjustment to his chair, she ran a dipped-blue brush along his face. Stiles relaxed under the soft bristles. “I’m surprised you didn’t get Batman. You look like a Batman guy.”

       He worked hard to maintain a motionless expression before answering her. “I like Batman too. Usually, I’m Team DC but the Captain is an inside joke.”

       “Oh yeah? Between who?” She inquired curiously. Stiles couldn’t tell if this was a conversation of convenience or if she was trying to poach information from him.

       “He doesn’t look like it but this guy here is a _big_  geek.” He pointed to the curtain, figuring she’d understand him. “He’s a Marvel guy, though. I try not to judge him based on it.” That got a laugh out of her. “My turn. What’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever painted on a person?” He felt zero remorse diverting the topic away from himself. He much rather listen anyway. Controlling his facial movement was near impossible.

       “Last year, this man asked me to paint abs on his belly. And, I’m talking middle-aged-man beer belly. We had to wipe away his sweat with a napkin. I flipped back and forth between laughing and gagging the entire time.” She shuttered violently just thinking about it.

        “How is that allowed?”

       “We have a no-go list and if their request isn’t on there, it’s up to the painter’s discretion. I jump at the opportunity to do anything that’s not Fairy Princess or butterflies. The others send me the crazy ones anyway.”

        “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I landed in your chair then.” Ouch. That came out a touch too flirty. _Get it together Stiles._ He mentally slapped his head against the back of his chair.

        “I guess so.” She smiled. The conversation died after that. He would be lucky if she didn’t draw a penis on his face. Stiles shifted to a better position a few minutes later, when she switched brushes. “So…” Yes! He pleaded. The silence was suffocating him slowly. “How long have you two been together?” Nooo, Stiles sighed under his breath. Anything but that.

        “Oh, we aren’t together.” He whispered, hoping Jackson’s own conversation with his painter kept him from listening in.

       “Like I believe that.” She cackled. Each laugh sent a brush stroke on his face. “He was one step away from murdering me.” He really was. Stiles chuckled. He wasn’t going to say that aloud, though.

        “Illusion. We’re just friends. He’s really cool, though. Once you break passed the snarls and bitch faces.”

      “If you say so. He’s extra easy on the eyes. I’ll give you that.” Stiles held his tongue, wanting to defend his honor. Jackson was more than his looks. At the very least, their bizarre friendship had taught him that. Painter girl took his slight grimace for jealousy. “No worries, Captain. I prefer the goofy, adorable ones.” Against his wishes, he squirmed in the suddenly hot seat. Stiles tried to laugh her comment off. She smirked. “I swear you’re too cute for words. You’re done.” His shoulders physically dropped when her paintbrush plopped into the brown murky water.

        She held up a yellow hand mirror and Stiles gasped. He looked so…bad ass!! Steel blue framed his face, letting the sides curve around his mouth. A solid white block “A” sat in the middle of his forehead. He marveled at the details: the mini white and gray wings etched on both sides of his face, the muted white blush on his cheekbones.

        “Dang girl.” He whistled, at a loss of anything else to say. His face was so legit. “I’m scared of what you can do with a canvas.”

        “You should be, Captain.” Stiles matched her friendly smile. She cleared her throat. Oh right. “Anything else?”

        “No. How much again?”

        “Twenty-five.” Stiles started to pull his wallet out but the rustling of the curtain distract him. An amazing idea popped into his head.

        “Jackson.” He poked the curtain twice, interrupting their conversation. “Jackson.”

       “What?” He snapped back. Stiles waited until he received a better response than that. Jackson sighed dramatically. “What do you want, Stiles?” Aggravation vibrated through his tone. Stiles shared a smile with his painter. He wanted to say, “ _see?”_ She shook her head fondly at him.

        “I need forty dollars.” They held in their giggles at the string of muttered obscenities that floated through the curtains. Today was going to be great. “Actually, do you accept tips?” He spared a look at her, as if to tell her to go along.

        “Sure,” She played along, smirking. “But, don’t worry about it.” 

       “No. Of course not." He tapped the plastic again. "Jackson, I really wanna give her a tip too. Can we make it fifty?” He pleaded at the curtain. He wished this thing were opaque. He’d love to his face, all pursed and angry.

       “Fine.” Jackson gritted. Both of their mouths dropped open, as they stared at the curtain. No way. He had to know they were playing him. Why was he going along with this? “I’ll give it to her when I’m done.”

       “Really?” Stiles cursed the fluttery sensations settling deep in his stomach.

       “Yes. Go wait outside.” Somehow, he just convinced Jackson to give this girl twenty-five dollars in tip. Ridiculous.

       “Ok Cool. I’ll be outside. I guess.” He hopped up from his chair, pocketing his wallet. He lingered by the tarp opening next to their station, thinking of words to say to this girl. He might as well go with simple. “Thanks again.” He waved at her. 

        “No, thank you!” She winked. Stiles shook his head, hiding his smile. “Have fun on the rest of your date.” Stiles groaned. “Yeah Yeah Yeah. Whatever you say, Captain. If you go to the balloon guy down the way, he’ll make you a shield.”

       “Awesome. See ya.” He waved once more before stumbling into the sun. He needed to buy some sunglasses if the sun was going to keep this up. Stiles looked around for a shady tree near the exit. He came up short. The closest source of shade was an open tent right next door, a moving basketball game. A group of young boys, the only occupants besides the attendant, gaped at his face. One of the boys pushed away from the table to gain a closer look at him.

       “Oh cool. Where’d you get that?” Stiles pointed to the front of the face-painting tent. They sprinted off without another word.

      “Wait! You have one ball left!” The game attendant shouted, probably out of necessity. Stiles grinned at him apologetically for sending his customers away. “They weren’t gonna make it anyway. You want it?” He offered the ball to Stiles. Taking their ball was ethically wrong on every level. He stepped up to the spray painted X on the ground. 

        “If I make the shot, can I pick a prize?”

         The guy shrugged, doubting Stiles’s ability. “If you make it.”

       Easy. Stiles took the ball from the man’s hand. He observed the slow shift of the moving goal to pinpoint the right moment to throw the ball. Games like these were nothing more than throwing in the right direction at the right time. He picked up the pattern. Slide right. Slide backwards. Slide right again. Slide forward. Finally, Slide left to the beginning. Only the machine lagged right before the pattern restarted. That’s where he shot the second time around. Sure enough, the ball swished in.

       “Nice kid. A deal’s a deal.” He gestured to the wall of prize hanging on the wall. That must be the phrase of the day. A deal’s a deal. Stiles smiled, taking in the array of prizes. He wanted to pick something for Jackson, as cliché as that sounded. He did just spend fifty dollars on his ass. Choosing a prize for him was the least he could do. Stiles settled on an Avengers basketball. How convenient. He tossed it to Stiles before hopping down from the ladder.

       “Thanks man.” With his (free) basketball tightly gripped under his arm, he spun around only to halt in his place. No fucking way. Stiles almost dropped the ball when he glimpsed Jackson’s face. His very red and metallic gold face. Iron Man. That sucker, Stiles grinned. Clearly, his painter wasn’t as talented as Stiles's was but he looked convincing. She painted half of the mask, as if someone ripped the other half in battle. It’s the best of both worlds. They saw Iron Man and Jackson Whittemore.

       “You copying me?” Jackson smirked, walking over to his still stunned body. Move, Stiles, Move! Stiles bumped his chest, failing to control his giddy laugh. “You’re staring.” Jackson pushed him until they were walking again. Stiles let his legs carry him through the flow of traffic as; he kept sneaking glances at Jackson’s face. “You’re still staring.” He shifted away the third time Jackson caught him.

       “It’s not my fault you look awesome. I’m just appreciating the view.” He shrugged his shoulder. Damn the consequences. Stiles used his pointer finger to touch the dried gold details. He cradled his finger to his chest after Jackson tried to bite it. “I’m so attracted to you right now. I can’t wait til Danny sees this.”

       “You’re so stupid.” Jackson chuckled at his antics, shoving him lightly. He almost hit a gang of middle school girls. He still caught the red tint to Jackson’s exposed cheek. Adorable. Stiles wondered what it would feel like if he bit that cheek. Now, he really was staring. Stiles jerked away, occupying himself by searching for the Balloons. “What are you looking for, now?”

        “Balloons.” Stiles told him without looking back at him. He refused to get sucked back in.

        “It’s over there. Follow me.” He led him to the balloon table, ducking between families, couples, and kids. This is the product of five counties banding together to organize a one-day event. Chaos. With minimal battle scars, they slipped into the queue line for the Balloon Man. You’d think the line would be fifty bitches deep. Stiles counted five, including him and Jackson. It probably had something to do with Mr. Balloon’s sleep deprivation. Stiles identified with that crazy-eyed gaze. He can see how that would be terrifying to some innocent child.

       “OOH! And, Look at you two.” Mr. Balloon yelled in their faces. His smile creepily peered into their souls. “Fight any crime today?”

       “Of course. We’re taking a balloon break.” Stiles declared. He figured the quickest escape route was indulging the poor guy. Mr. Balloon chortled a hearty laugh. Jackson rolled his eyes at the man.

        “I like the sound of that. What can I interest you in? Maybe, a shield for our Captain and a gun for Iron Man?”

      “That sounds awesome.” _See?_ Stiles patted himself on the back mentally. They were practically done already. They waited while he speedily constructed their creations. The hands of balloon artists always fascinated him as a child. They moved so rapidly. _"I bet he’d be excellent at hand jobs"_ , he muttered to Jackson. Jackson clutched his stomach he was laughing so hard. He watched the elation transform his face. It’s unfortunate the world doesn’t experience it more often. Mr. Balloon scrutinized them with his crazy eyes.

       “He gets like this sometimes.” He hid his laugh behind a cough. Mr. Balloon shrugged, handing over his finished shield. “Awesome!” He looked like a kid, admiring the circular red, white, and blue shield. The rim of his shield was red; alternating red and white rings led to one blue ring. In the middle of the blue was a mini white star. As he said, balloon artist always fascinate him. Stiles played with his shield until Mr. Balloon finished Jackson’s.

       “Here you go.” He slid the gun in placed on Jackson’s outstretched arm before stepping back. Clever, it was like the gun thing Iron Man always used. “Ten dollars gentlemen.” Stiles could afford ten dollars. He put the ball between his legs to reach for his wallet.

        “No.” The word was direct, meaning he expected him not to argue. Guess what: he was going to damn well argue.

        “You just spent at least seventy-five bucks back there.”

       “So 10 dollars is nothing. Put your wallet away.” He handed the man a ten and a five before pushing Stiles out of the line. Stiles walked alongside of him, frowning at the side of his face. He refused to look at him. He gave in when Stiles persisted. “Look. It’s not a big deal. I have money. How I choose to spend it is my choice.”

        “And, you choose to spend it on me?” Stiles challenged him. He shifted his gaze  to their shoes, not wanting to see the expression on his face. 

        “Yes, Stiles. I choose to spend it on you. Are we done here?” Frustrated, Jackson ran his hand over his head. Stiles beamed at the ground.

       “Looks like they have rides up ahead. Interested?” He moved passed the subject, in favor of something lighter. He received no answer so he continued in that direction anyway. He bobbed his head to the Katy Perry song in this part of the festival. They knew good music back here.

       “How many tickets?” A man pointed to the sign above his head when they stepped up to the ticket booth. They looked up together.

**Rollins Ride-a-Rama**

1 Ride= 4 Tickets

4 Tickets= $2.00

20 Tickets= $15.00

A Roll (50 Tickets) = $30.00

A Book (100 Tickets) = $45.00

Wristband (Unlimited rides) = $50.00

***Half off prices with a canned good.**

       They both glanced at each other, not even bothering to deliberate. “We’ll take 20, thanks.” Jackson handed him the money through a windowpane. The man handed them the expensive red tickets. With their expensive red paper, they stepped through the gate.

       Stiles stared at the thirty or so hazardous rides in front of him. “Is it just me or are they a tad rusted?” Not one of them wore at least a decent coat of paint. Stiles was having major second thoughts about this. The music was so promising too. What a shame.

       “I’m not getting on those deathtraps. Hey kid.” Jackson tapped the shoulder of the first hyperactive child that passed them. “You want these?” The boy grinned, jumping up and down. “Here.” The kid took off for his friends, shouting about his new tickets. Meanwhile, he and Jackson bolted, not stopping until they were a safe distance away. They landed themselves amongst the quirky merchants. Where was this place when he was searching for a pair of glasses? It was five o’clock now. In a few hours, the sun will be setting.

       “Oh my god, caricatures!” The booth caught his eye. Right now, a plump man and his trophy wife posed for the artist. He would love to see that finish product. “You know we have to get one right?”

       “Wrong.” He yelled over to him. His voice sounded distant. Stiles pivoted behind and to the side of him. Gone. Stiles found him on the other side of the booths, rummaging through a tub of previously owned video games. Stiles jogged over to the table, intrigued. He and Jackson don’t have many common interests. Games and movies? They both spoke those languages. Stiles caught the tail end of his conversation with the seller.

       “It’s just been sitting in my parents' attic this whole time. I was over there helping them pilfer through that stuff and I found it. Unopened too. Apparently, my dad planned to give it to me for Christmas or something and they forgot where they hid it. I checked on eBay. They’re running for at least eight hundred. I’m not really about the money so I’m selling mine for five. Just give me your address and I can express mail it to you.” He waved his hands around wildly, as he talked.

       “What are you buying for five hundred dollars?” He questioned. The video game man turned his friendly smile towards him. Stiles liked his curved mustache, very hipster of him. He opened his mouth to clue him in but Jackson cut him off. They really should workshop his manners.

        “Nothing." Jackson pushed him away from the table. "I’ll hit you up later man.” Jackson tossed behind him. The guy waved. Jackson distracted him from asking questions by pulling him over to the caricature table. Was he that easy? Yep! “How much?” Jackson asked the man, still clutching on to Stiles’s forearm.

       “Twenty.” He offered for them to sit down in the two chairs. He studied their dynamic and physical features silently.

       “Great. Sit. I’ll be right back.” Jackson slapped a twenty on the table before running off, leaving Stiles sitting there gaping after him.

       “WhAT! No!” He slumped in the chair, cursing the hell out of Jackson. What part of whatever he wanted did the brute not understand. That bastard. Only lonely people get caricatures by themselves.

       “No worries, kid. I got a good look at him. We’ll just give him a wart. Or a huge forehead.” The artist joked, forcing Stiles to sit up in his chair. At that idea, he felt slightly better about being in this seat. His eyes felt drawn to pinpoint Jackson in the crowd. Asshole probably went back to the video game table to talk to cool hipster. Rude. Stiles was more entertaining than that guy. While he waited for their portrait, Stiles thought of five ways he'd like to main him. “Here you go.” He showed Stiles a portrait of them in superhero costumes. Stiles, as Captain America, was flexing on the ground with his robust muscles. The artist etched a victorious smile on his face. He chucked at Jackson's caricature. In his Iron Man suit, Jackson hovered above the ground, near the clouds. A heap of bird poop fell onto his metal, making cartoon Jackson growl. 

         "That's awesome!" He giggled, juggling his belongings to grab hold of it. He moved the ball to his left armpit and gripped his shield with his left hand.

         “I have a bag if you want it.” 

         “Yes please.” Stiles chuckled, only imagining how the man must perceive him. He took the bag gladly, fitting it around his right wrist. 

         “I hope your date pulls his head out of his ass.” The man called after him.

 _It's not a date but, me too!_ Stiles thought, headed back for the video game table. Sure enough, the two of them stood together, engaged in an animated conversation. Stiles's eyes narrowed at the sight. A part of himself whispered to just leave and find the others. Another part was one-step from stalking over there and knocking some sense into his brain. The last part, the one he chose, told him to breathe, take it easy, and remember whom he decided to spend today with. He told Danny he could handle this. He was going to prove it to himself. Stiles strolled over to the table for the second time that evening. Only, this smile was trite and forced.

        “Hey. You ready?” He interrupted them with false tranquility. Again, the man flipped his smile over to Stiles. He tried (and failed) to ignore the flash of anger spreading like liquid through his veins. He pulled a page from Jackson’s book and walked away before either of them had a chance to speak. Heavy footsteps pounded on the gravel after him.

       “Sorry about that.” Jackson apologized half-heartedly when he caught up to him. Stiles grunted, picking up his pace. Since the park’s path moved in one giant circle, they found themselves headed back towards the main stage area they left this afternoon. An arch of trees curved over the pathway, stopping the sun from seeping through. A few rays were thin enough to slip through the trees. With this lightning, the few couples scattered on the benches didn't surprise him. They probably fit right in. One or two people smiled at Stiles as he passed. His mom and dad taught him to show respect. He grinned back.

      “You’re not actually mad, are you?” Jackson wrapped a hand around his upper arm, trying to stop him from advancing. He jerked away with a leer, realizing he was overreacting. To the outside eye, Jackson leaving him probably wasn't a big deal. To him, that same biting rejection from last night filled his mind. “Oh my god.” Jackson grumbled loudly. He caught up to him within a second, clutching onto the first thing he could get his hands around: his waist.

       No matter how hard Stiles tugged, his body remained in his grasp. Jackson reeled him in tighter, pulling him firmly against his chest. Jesus, if he wasn’t so angry right now. “Hey. Come on.” He muttered, his voice soothing and quiet. Such a huge difference from its usual harsh tone. Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in the muted smell of whatever cologne he uses. He made sure not to get too close. It’d be a shame to smudge his face paint. He latched onto the rich scent, allowing it to calm his frustration. He let himself get caught up in the moment, grappling a handful of his unbelievably soft sweater. They stood like that for awhile. Stiles shifted only when he felt too many eyes on his back. “I'm sorry about ditching you. A deal's a deal.  About last night too. I-uh... know how important your dad is to you.” Jackson tilted his head back slightly to look him in the eyes. He eyed him suspiciously. “I’m serious, Stiles.” He rarely heard his real name, or his nickname, come from Jackson's mouth. He can count those occurrences on one hand. Hearing his name is mainly why Stiles accepted the apology.

         “Fine. Just don’t let it happen again, asshole.” He grinned, pushing away from his body playfully. "A deal's a deal!"

         Jackson saluted him. “Where do you wanna go next?” Jackson asked, continuing their exploration.

         They barely took two steps before a group of teenagers stopped them. “Excuse me.” The leader of the group, a young kid with thick black curls, called out. It’d be rude if they ignored them so, he paused. They looked early teens, sophomores at most.   “Hey. Can we get a picture with you? Is that weird?” He grinned, fidgeting with his iPhone. Adorable.

         “Sure.” Stiles surrendered. Jackson barely protested. One of the guys, who hated taking photos, offered to work the camera. The other four piled into the space between him and Jackson. They talked over one another, throwing out ideas on poses. Stiles counted this as punishment. Jackson tossed him a grimace over their miniature bodies. “ ** _Be nice.”_** He mouthed, nodding to the babbling, excited pre-teens. Finally, they decided the first one was to be a simple smiles shot. 

          “Alright. One. Two. Three.” On three, Stiles wrapped his hands around the two kids closest to him. While they deliberated on the next pose, Stiles returned to their chatting spot.

 _Did you smile?”_ He asked. Jackson rolled his eyes but nodded yes. Good. He wanted copies of these photos as a memorabilia.

 _“I hate you.”_ Jackson frowned back. Stiles’s cheeks pushed back from his large beam. Look at that grumpy face.

 _“You love me. Here comes the next one.”_ The group decided they should all pose like superheroes. Go figure! Stiles ran up to the guy behind the iPhone. “Hey, what’s your name?”

        “Pierce.”

       “Hey. I’m Stiles. Would you hold my things? They don’t really shout bad-ass superhero to me.” He lifted the ball and his caricature bag. Pierce laughed, taking his things. They waited for him to shuffle back in place with his shield.

       “One. Two. Three.” Stiles faced inwards, with a straightened back. He flexed his arms, pushed his feet apart, and held the shield in front of his body. He remembered this pose from one of the movie posters last year. “I got it.” He shouted over to them. They geared up for more ideas but Stiles didn’t want to torture Jackson too much. He’s anxious to see the poses Jackson came up with.

       “We’ll stop bothering you if we can get one of just you two. I mean, your getup is sick.” One of the girls must have caught their conflicting side-glances. Stiles didn’t see the harm in that. They smirked brightly when he agreed. Now, all the puppy eyes turned on Jackson. Even he couldn’t withstand that many pleading faces.

       “I guess.” They cheered, stepping behind Pierce with the camera.

       “You have to make it really good.”

       “Yeah!”

       Stiles already thought of the best idea. He waited anxiously until Pierce said two, turning his head to smooch Jackson’s bare cheek. Only Jackson had the same idea. Before he knew it, he felt warm soft lips on his as Pierce’s three filled the air. Around them, the teens cracked up. They hollered about how they planned the entire thing. They didn’t and oh god, he’s kissing Jackson Whittemore. He was going to pull away but, damn it all to hell. He was drowning in the sensation of them together. Stiles slid a hand behind Jackson’s neck to hold him closer. He slid his tongue along Jackson’s bottom lip, begging him to let him. Jackson chuckled softly, pulling back slowly. Right before he pulled away completely, he placed two small kisses on the corners of his mouth. Stiles subconsciously leaned forward before he realized what he was doing. Shit, Jackson broke him. Stiles blushed at the ground, embarrassed at his behavior.

       “Oh, you’re still here?” He barely heard Jackson under the rushing in his ears. He grimaced, not liking where this was going at all. Stiles forced himself to glance up in the direction where the preteens stood. Most of them were still snickering. Pierce, in the front, smiled boldly at them.

       “We have his stuff. You two are hot.” He wiggled his eyes up and down, walking Stiles belongings over to him. Stiles couldn’t help his burst of laughter. The situations he finds himself in. Stiles grabbed his stuff from Pierce’s arms.

       “Hey,” He cleared his throat. “Can you send me those?” He pointed to the phone.

       “Yeah. You got a Kik?” Stiles shook no. “A Facebook.” He did but he considered Facebook private. He definitely wasn’t giving these kids his number.

       “Can you DM me on twitter?” Stiles spelled his twitter name for him.

       “Alright dudes! Sent. Thanks again. Have fun on your date.” At this point, Stiles didn't correct him. It’s the third person whose called this a date. Everyone (but them) was calling this a date. After that display, he can’t refute. Stiles focused on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping. He still felt mildly disoriented from that kiss. Holy shit! There was a kiss to feel disoriented about. The entire thing replayed on a loop in his head. He needed to pull himself together. It’s not as if he’s some sixteen-year-old virgin. “I say we get food.” He broke the ice first.

       Jackson stared at the side of his face. Stiles felt the gears turning in his head.

       “What?” He stared back, avoiding the urge to look down.

       “Are you really ok with the fact that there’s a group of rowdy teenagers out there with your twitter handle and probably multiple pictures of us kissing?” Jackson asked him calmly. He made it seem like they kiss all the time. Suddenly, the meaning of his question clicked.

       “Holy fuck! They wouldn’t.” Frantically, he searched for his phone. The search would go more smoothly if he weren’t holding like eight things. To prevent his Balloon shield from popping, Stiles transferred it safely to Jackson’s hand. He dug for his phone, praying that his lock screen would be blank. All that stared back at him was a picture of him and his dad eating corn on the cob at a cookout a few years ago. “We’re all good.” He pivoted his phone in Jackson’s direction.

       “Try again.” Jackson snickered.

       “What are you talking about? There’s nothing-” He swiveled the phone back around dramatically. His stomach dropped. Twelve notifications. “Why!” Stiles cried out. “WHYYYYYY! I can’t read them. I can’t do it. Here.” He thrust his phone into Jackson’s chest.

        “Seriously?” Jackson grabbed it, with his Balloon gun arm. Stiles took back his shield too. “You’re being dramatic.”

       “Look who’s talking!? You of all people care what they think.” It wasn't meant as a diss. It was more of an observation. Jackson’s cared about what other people thought of him. Why else would he go through such lengths to be…well Jackson?

       “Stiles. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like you have my dick in your mouth.” Jackson spat back at him, oblivious to the family of five sitting at the picnic tables they just walked past. The dad pushed up rapidly, glaring holes into their skulls. Stiles apologized to them before he sprinted away. They were going to die today. It was official. He was out of breath when they reached a safe distance. The opened field they left a few hours ago came into view. Now that a dusky shadow fell over the park, they could blend in with the large crowd.

        “Warn a dude before you blurt something like that!” He smacked Jackson on the back of the head, earning himself a chortle. They laughed as they pushed through the standing crowd.

        “You love me.” Jackson smirked, shifting Stiles’s words back on him. “Danny texted me. Allison and Lydia went out to buy food. Or, did you want something over there.” They glanced over at the long waiting line for the expensive and fatty food. 

        “I vote Allison and Lydia.”

        “Whatever you want, Captain.”

       Stiles rolled his eyes at his cheeky expression.  “Don’t try to butter me up! You’re still reading the dammed tweets. And, here. Take your dumb ball.” He tossed the basketball over to him. Jackson let it drop to the ground. Extra rude.

        “This is yours. I watched you pick it out.”

        “I won it for you, idiot.” He rolled his eyes. 

       “Oh.” A private smile meant just for him stretched across his face. “Thanks.” Jackson pocketed his phone for later to pick it up. They navigated back to where the group set up camp, carefully stepping over people. Scott wasn't kidding. People were strewn across the grass everywhere listening to a pretty solid band. Their sound reminded him of a cross-over between Maroon 5 and Linkin Park. It was interesting. He bobbed his head to the music, searching for the group. He pumped his fist when they spotted Lydia’s bright red hair. He performed a roll call. Erica and Boyd? Check. Lydia necking with a guy who looks strangely similar to Danny’s boyfriend? Check. Allison chatting animatedly with Isaac while he stroked Scott’s hair? _**Check.**_ Scott with his head in Isaac’s lap? _**Um, Check?** _ Stiles lingered on that one. He felt like he barely knew Scott these days.  Danny and his actually boyfriend? _**Check.**_ They’re all present. Except for him and Jackson.

       Watching them all relaxed with each other, enjoying the music, was like admiring a painting. The way they move around one another made Stiles feel out of place. His friendships with each of them seemed hallow in comparison. The only person he felt secure about was the one standing right next to him.

       “You good?” Jackson nudged his shoulder softly. Multiple people from the group snapped up at them immediately after he spoke. Creepy. Stiles shuddered.

       “HEYYY!” They greeted them in unison. Now, they have no choice but to join them. They made the last few steps to the large piece of fabric. He plopped down in the empty spot next to Erica. Jackson waited for him to settle before he sat down in the slither of space between he and Danny.

       “Looks like someone had a good time.” Lydia eyed them smugly, smirking. “Cute face paint.” Stiles preened at the compliment. “You smudged it some, though.” She touched his left cheek. A fleck of gold paint rubbed off on her hands. “No one told me Captain America wore gold.”

       “That’s so funny.” Stiles threw his head back in a laugh. The group watched amused as he cradled Jackson’s jaw. He twisted his face for a look at his face paint. A weird combination of blue and gold mixed to a muted green. Until he felt a warm exhale from Jackson’s nose, it never registered to him how close their faces were. “Sorry.” He released him. He had to remember from now on that they were in front of the group. Life returned to normal. Stiles expected a number of reactions. None of them involved Jackson blushing, sneaking tiny glances at his mouth. AHA! Jackson was affected by their kiss. _It's just a kiss, my ass!_ Stiles grinned down at his hands.

       “Wow. I was so wrong.” Danny broke the silence. He dimpled at them. Stiles and Jackson mirrored each other, raising one eyebrow with him. “I thought you’d be all fiery passion and witty banter. You’re more like…” He thought about it. “Star-crossed smiles and butterflies.”

       “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Stiles grinned, shifting back into his own space. “What’s up with Scotty?” At his name, Isaac glared up at him. His fingers paused the tender stroking of his cheek. When was he going to realize Stiles wasn't a threat?

        “They ran around eating all this fried food and Scott got a tummy ache. He threw up on some women’s shoes two hours ago and Isaac’s been coddling him ever since. He drifts in and out of sleep.” Erica informed him. Poor Scotty. Good thing he had Isaac to care for him. Wow, Stiles smirked. He never thought he’d think that statement. Erica suppressed the gleeful smile on her face. Isaac growled at her when she let it slip. “Word to the wise. Don’t let Isaac catch you teasing his baby. You hungry?” She offered him a half-eaten foot long sub sandwich. His stomach grumbled at the sight. “Here. You can have it. I’m done anyway.” Stiles, never one to pass up free food, tore a large chunk off it with his mouth. He loved BLTs.

        “Gross.” Jackson muttered, on the other side of him.

        “What?” He whispered back, hoping for some semblance of privacy. In the group, achieving that was next to impossible. “You want some?”

        “Of Erica’s gross spit sandwich?” He eyed the thing in disgust. “I’ll pass.”

      “You’re missing out!” He chomped another hole into the sandwich. The sound of thick lettuce crunching in his ears stopped him from hearing Jackson’s next mutterings. “What?” He prompted him to repeat that.

        “He mumbled, ‘don’t expect to come anywhere near my mouth later on.’ Jackson, it’s not polite to mumble.” Erica piped up, leaning over to ruffle Jackson’s hair. Why doesn’t it surprise him that she heard him from all the way over there? He’s starting to catch on with this crowd. Stiles hid his blush behind Erica’s sandwich.  

      “Bite me, bitch.” He jeered back at her. Stiles wondered who thought it was a good idea to leave these two alone last night. Clearly, the violence and vulgar language is an everyday occurrence.

         “I’d rather leave that to someone who can stand to look at you. Stiles, perhaps?”

         “Jesus, you two are like angry kittens.” Stiles was the one to mumble this time. Isaac, of all people, snickered at him. He schooled his face back into a snarl when Stiles glimpsed up.

        “Oh My God. Allison, Erica it’s happening!!!!!!” The conversation ceased at Lydia excited squeal. That’s the best way to describe it. In the past 48 hours that he’s official known her, he’s never seen Lydia so excited. Something tells him, they all fear for whatever makes Lydia squeal.

          “What’s going on?” Stiles looked to all of them individually for question. Everyone, besides Erica, Allison, and Lydia, wore the same muddled expressions.

         “ **THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYBODY!”** The current band’s lead singer bellowed into his microphone. It’s the first time Stiles paid attention to the live performance since they sat down. The crowd cheered deafeningly around them. He felt compelled to join in. Stiles shoved the final piece of sandwich in his mouth to clap with the group. “Wow. I miss doing shows like these. Everyone’s chill, sitting on the grass and lounging with friends, family, and loved ones.” That must mean they’re popular somewhere. Truthfully, if they weren’t in his iTunes or featured on the radio, Stiles doubted he knew them. A wave of hushes ran over the crowd. The noise subsided in waves. “Thank you, hush crew.” He gestured to the group, with an amused smile. “For those of you just joining in, we are Seventh Avenue.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Sorry, you missed our set. But! The real fun’s just getting started.” Lydia, Erica, and Allison squealed together, bouncing up and down on the blanket.

          “Ok, what the hell? Is anyone else terrified?” Every guy, including Scotty, raised his hands in answer to his question.

         “So, a few years ago, we were just your average-slackin’ high school seniors living in good ‘ole Rollins, California.” Another shout reverberated amongst the crowds. This is why he hated concerts. Annoying. “Then, we got signed by Fueled By Ramen and while it’s been amazing. We’re happy to be home.”

          “WE LOVE YOU, WESLEY!”

        “Aww, I love you guys too.” He blew a kiss to the five girls who shouted to him. “Do I need to call on my shush crew, again?” He asked, chuckling and the crowd laughed. Thankfully, the ruckus barely lasted a few moments. “We wanted to do something special tonight. Since our drummer Forrest just went on a date with his high school crush last night, we figured we’d go with the theme of _love._

 _“WaaaWaaWaaaAAAaaa!”_ The moment he heard the song opening, Stiles covered his eyes. He blushed, hating where this was going already.

         The speakers set up around the stage began to blast that one popular cliché love song, Let’s Get It On. The audience erupted with laughter as three of the band members started thrusting their hips to the music. Forrest, the drummer, hid behind his set, gasping for breath. Stiles watched the scene, thanking the heavens he’s not in his place.   

 _♫ I’ve been really trying baby…_ ♫

          Wesley crooned along with the smooth soloist’s voice. The song cut off. “What I was really digging that! Ok, apparently I’m supposed to keep it PG! My bad.”

          Everyone laughed. Stiles shared his nervous laughter with Jackson. He shook his head as if to convey ‘what can you do?’ Stiles shrugged his shoulders.

         “Bro, there are children out there.” One of the other band members scolded him, slapping him on the back.  

        “Oh, right. Moving on. We want to honor all kinds of love tonight. Will you help me weed them out yeah?” He flipped the microphone to face them. They all screamed, “YEAHHH!” “Awesome. I knew I could count on home folk. Let’s get started with the First Daters.” Oh no. Stiles froze. This can’t be what those three were so excited about. He and everyone else glanced around in hopes that someone would step from the crowd. No one moved a muscle. All these people. Stiles found it hard to believe there was not one official first date in the crowd. “Friends, call ‘em out! I need a first date on this stage.”

        Erica glinted at them. “OVER HERE!” She pointed over their heads. Their other friends joined in now that she started it.

       “No. Guys. Stop!” Stiles battled her hand, trying to force it down. “Jackson. Help me.” Stiles forgot about her entirely when he snagged a look to right. “Whoa dude. You don’t look so good.” He leaned into get a closer look. A thin layer of sweat collected on his forehead. He stared at the stage shell-shocked. Stage Fright possibly?

        “There’s a couple over here you say?” Wesley jumped down from his spot on the stage. People around the open field shifted and stood to gain a better viewpoint on him. Stiles groaned; this can’t be good. He skipped giddily over to them. “Reveal yourself, young love!”

         Erica so kindly made the introductions for them. “Stiles. Jackson.” She pointed to each of them. He was going to chop her into little pieces when they escaped from this.

         “Stiles and Jackson.” Wesley repeated their names for the large crowd. Loud chattered filled around his eyes as people gossiped about them. “I like that. Together, you make Stackson. Come on Rollins. Let’s send Stackson some courage. Stack-son! Stack-son!” He only had to say it twice before hundreds of people were shouting their conjoined name. At the very least, they didn’t have to worry about bigoted-homophobic assholes. Stiles let their chanting empower him. Without much thought, he hopped up next to Wesley, clutching onto his shield. A rambunctious applaud ripped through the crowd. “Yeah! Stiles, everybody! All right. One more to go.”

       The crowd continued the chanting. “Stack-son! Stack-son!” Stiles held out his hand to Jackson, pleading for him not to leave him hanging. He searched his eyes, looking for anything remotely promising. _Don’t leave me hanging. Don’t leave me hanging._ _Don’t leave me hanging._  He won’t be able to come back from this rejection so easily. Eventually, the Stackson chanting tapered off. Instead, they chose to watch the scene in silence now that the cinematographer relocated his camera to focus on them. Stiles glanced up at the large screens quickly, checking himself out. Then, he went back to chanting at Jackson. _Don’t leave me hanging! Bastard, don’t leave me hanging!_ He was a second away from striding away when a hot (and slightly clammy) hand clutched on to his. Uncontrollable screams split through the atmosphere. Stiles beamed like a kid on Christmas as he helped Jackson to his feet.

        “STACKSON! STACKSON! STACKSON!” Stiles pumped his free hand to the chanting. Wesley had them step out from the blanket to stand next to him in the grass.

       “Alright children, lets settle down!” Wesley shouted into the microphone. “Phew! Thank you. I thought we were gonna have to call on the shush crew for a minute there.” All eyes trained on them. “I promise I’ll stop bothering you soon. We just want to know about you guys.” He pushed the microphone at them. They both stared at the microphone and then at each other.

       “OMG. This is so embarrassing!” Stiles heard Lydia whisper to Allison. Together, they snickered, oblivious to the death glares he sent them. Their ridicule was the final push he needed to pull his head out of his ass.

        “What do you guys want to know?” He flitted his most charming smile at the camera. After that, the crowd interacted better with them. Questions from the audience came spinning at them.

**“ _How was your date? " "How old are you?"  "Who’s the top?"  "KISS!"  "How’d you meet?”_**

        Stiles chuckled, into the microphone. He pulled away from Jackson’s hand to grab it.

       “I’m pretty sure I heard you say PG, right?” Stiles asked Wesley. He nodded. “Shame on you for asking that question.” They all laughed. “No but, seriously. We’re Stiles and Jackson, obviously. I’m seventeen. Are you seventeen?” He asked Jackson. “I don’t think I ever asked you that. How do I not know this?”

        Jackson rolled his eyes, fondly at him. He ran a nervous hand over his hair. “Yes Stiles. I’m seventeen.”

      “Oh. Cool. We’re seventeen. Clearly, you see how new this is. What else did you ask? Oh-right! How did we meet? We’re your typical new kid meets popular kid. I’m the new one in this scenario. Been living here in California for a little over five months now.” He told the audience.

       “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

       “New York. I was born in Jersey though. Can't you tell?” He let his New York accent slip through the cracks. "I've learned to mask it." Stiles told the crowd. He winked at his friends' confused grins. Especially Danny’s. They never asked him so he never told.

      “You’re a long way from home, sailor.” Wesley clapped on his back. “So, how was the date? Did he measure up to your dreams, Stiles?” If only he knew, Stiles mind flashed back to this morning.

      “Oh definitely.” He patted Jackson’s cheek, loving the embarrassed grimace hidden behind a scowl. “First, we got upgraded to superhero status.” He gestured up and down their bodies. “Then, we cheated death by NOT getting on any rides. For those of you who did, I commend your bravery.” He wanted to gloss over their mini pat about the caricature thing. That wasn’t necessary a moment he wanted to revisit.

         Jackson cleared his throat, picking up where he left off. “Then, this idiot gave his twitter name to some kids who took pictures of us. So, if you want to see them, his name is-”

      “Jackson, STOP!” Stiles wrestled with him to keep his mouth shut. Everyone egged them on, split between demanding his twitter name and laughing uncontrollably. Stiles wasn’t strong enough to hold him down so, he tickled his armpit until he surrendered.

       “Ok. Ok. Damn.” Jackson hissed in his ear. Stiles hopped off his back with a smirk. Jackson, being himself, brushed off his sweater before focusing on the crowd again. “Like, I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. We had a good- @sarcastic_stiles! Spell that S-T-I-L-E-S.” Backlit screens lit up the darkened sky as Jackson belted his twitter name.

        “NOOOOOO!” Stiles cried out dramatically. Large clumps of people hollered when they located the photos. Even their friends right in front of him guiltily snickered into their phones. Danny blessed him with a dimpled smile. He rejected it. “You all better follow me!” He grimaced, acting angrier than he felt. By now, all of his friends in New York have probably seen (and commented) on those pictures. What’s a few more hundred people? That’ll just give Jackson more tweets to read when the time comes.

       “You heard the man. Follow him, @sarcastic_stiles!” Wesley yelled to stretch his voice over the chatter. “I think we’ve bothered them enough. Give it up for Stackson!” Stiles bowed at the cheering. “This is for you.” Wesley whispered away from the microphone to speak privately with them. He held a thick envelope in his hand. “It’s something from us to you. Open it when you’re alone. I know how noisy some people can get.” He winked, clapping both of them on the back. “We’re rooting for you two.” They thanked him. He hid the envelope in his front pocket. Finally, Wesley left them alone to find his next victim. A married couple of at least 30 years. As interesting as that sounded, he was ready to head home. Only, he didn’t drive. Damn!

         “Did you drive?” He asked, on the walk back to the group.

       “No. Danny did. His car’s bigger. We picked up McCall, Isaac, and Boyd. Why? You want to go?” Stiles nodded his head. “Alright, stay right here. I’ll work it out.” Stiles smiled, patting his cheek restlessly. “You’re weird. And here.” His phone! Stiles forgot Jackson held on to it. He choked on spit when he looked at the lock screen. Three hundred and fifty-three twitter notifications. His battery was at 8%. “Tell your dad you’re staying at Danny’s house.”

        “Why?” He asked, scrolling through his notifications.

        “Cause you’re staying at my house.” Jackson smirked. Stiles snapped away from his phone to peer up at him. He felt a slow shiver trail up his body. This was a big deal, right? Stiles bit the corner of his lip, nervously. 

        “Oh…ok…I can do that.” 

        "Good. I'll be back." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm going to sleep for a day. (I wish lol!) With something this big, there are probably more mistakes. I apologize!! I'll fix them.
> 
> I'm on tumblr over at manspirations.tumblr.com. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Your comments (and kudos) put a smile on my face!
> 
> Oh! Also, I used several inspirations for this chapter. I made a little collage in case you care to see them:  
> https://38.media.tumblr.com/747340a0e25f9481228ccd0d0f2a8af0/tumblr_n8cwxnfGaa1r7gi6no1_500.png


	6. Ask You To Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shouldn't be nervous. It was only Jackson. At his house. Alone. All night. Yeah, he's a little nervous.

_Text me if you two decide to get out of bed tomorrow._

        Danny’s goodbye replayed in his head. At the time, they flicked him off jokingly while he sped away. Now, taking a tour of Jackson’s extravagant home, those words were all he could focus on. He entertained the thought on the drive back. Would he sleep with Jackson given the chance? Fuck yeah. Should he sleep with Jackson given the chance? No. Probably not. He decided to relax, assess the situation for any clues, and then make any rash decisions. Only that’s a difficult task when Jackson played emotionless host. Jackson tossed him a faux smile as they neared the end of the hallway. Stiles heart lashed against his chest in anticipation. 

       “This is my room.” He trailed behind Jackson into the open door. Much like the rest of the house, Jackson’s room was bigger than any room in his own house. However, whereas the other parts of the house appeared untouched, with its gallery wall art and expensive furniture, Jackson’s room showed life. Various sports and movie posters dotted his darkened walls. Stiles noted the cork board above his desk holding up multiple photos of him, Danny, and Lydia over the years. For some reason, he pictured Jackson as a neat person. Taking in his room, that theory drifted out the door. His bed rested against the back wall sloppily made as if he rushed this morning. Clothes strewn across his floor, trailing from the door to his bathroom. He could imagine a tired Jackson walking in from a long day. He’d stripped off his clothes one by one. Yeah, maybe not the best thought to have when he’s in someone else’s bedroom. His mouth watered. Stiles cleared his throat, shifting his eyes away from the clothes quickly. Not before Jackson caught him staring.

       “Sorry about that. I didn’t exactly plan this.” He kicked the expensive pieces of fabric into what Stiles expected was a closet.

       “You’ve been in my room how many times? It’s a million time worse than this.” He offered once he found his voice. “Sweet collection.” He appraised the multitude of video games and movies perfectly sorted on built in shelving around a large plasma TV. Games he hadn't seen in years jumped out at him. Don't get him started on the movies. He’ll be standing here all night geeking out. “Why haven’t I been over here sooner?! I’m so jealous. You still have a Nintendo 64 and a Playstation 1!?! OMG.” He plucked a case from the shelf, letting the plastic cool his sweaty hands. “Is this the first Mortal Kombat? Dude. Who are you? Don’t answer that. I know who you are.” He gawked in wonder at the case in his hands.

       “If I knew this was all it took to render you speechless, we would have come here sooner.” Jackson mocked him from his spot on the couch in front of his bed. Stiles flicked him off half-heartedly, paying far too much attention to the games. “We’ll play it later. Here. These should fit you.” As to not forget about it, he positioned the case with the other recently played games at the base of the bookshelf. Stiles pivoted to accept the clothes Jackson picked out for him. A simple black crew neck t-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. Just his style, Stiles grinned. “You can shower in there.” He pointed to his bathroom. “There’s an iHome plugged up on the counter. That'll charge your phone. There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink and towels on the wall. If you need anything, I’ll be in my parents' bathroom down the hall. Just follow the light. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He slipped out the room with a change of clothes under his arms before Stiles spoke a word. God forbid he **_did_** have any questions. Stiles tittered, stepping into Jackson’s bathroom. He always felt out of place in other people's bathroom, seeing and using products that weren’t his. He flipped on the light, snorting as the fluorescent bulbs lit up the grey walls. Who needs something so lavish? Jackson. That’s who. Stiles shook his head fondly at the gray stone tiles and the black granite counter tops. Locating the iHome was easy enough, sitting atop one of the counters. He snapped his iPhone into place. He tore away his clothes without a thought. They were starting to cling to him from all the sweat and dirt.

       His shower actually ran smoothly once he grasped the mechanics of his shower nozzles. They had the complicated ones that you pulled out before turning. Behind the frosted glass, he scrubbed off today’s grime with whatever body wash Jackson had. The bottle read _Molton Brown Re-charge Black Pepper Body Wash._ As long as it smelled good and cleaned his body, he didn’t care.

       When he washed his face, the clear water shifted blue then clear again. Conveniently, Jackson had an anti-fog mirror on the wall, eye level to his body. The mirror was such a godsend he held off on the vanity jokes. Once his face returned to its original pastiness, he stepped out. His body shivered violently as the cold air swirled around him. He dressed and brushed his teeth hastily before leaving the room.

       Barefoot, Stiles followed the mental breadcrumbs back to the kitchen. He was sure you turned right, walked down the hall, headed down the steps, and walked all the way to the left. Nope, this was not the kitchen. Somehow, he found himself inside the Whittemore’s home gym. Stiles backtracked his steps. Maybe, he was supposed to take a right at the bottom of the steps. A faint light shown at the end of the hall. Uncontrollable barking flitted to his ears.

       “Calm down, Perce. That’s just Stiles.” Jackson chuckled. “In here!” He called out, addressing him now. Stiles followed the light. When he finally made it to the kitchen, he wasn’t sure what to look at. Jackson grinning down at a dog, with his hair soft and wet. He wore a pair of sweats, a thin shirt, and black rimmed glasses. Glasses for fucks sake! Or, should he address the animal in his house?

       “I didn’t know you had a dog.” Stiles plopped down on a bar stool, watching it’s black and brown speckled body thrash against Jackson’s leg. He really wanted to go to him. Hyperactive little thing.

       “Did I not mention that?” Stiles threw him an amused look. “Percy’s mostly harmless.”

       “Wait! You named your dog Percy?! As in Percy Jackson?” Stiles cracked up. Never a dull moment with Jackson around. He gasped for air only to start again when Jackson and Percy shot him the same unimpressed grimace.

       “Danny’s sister named him and it stuck.” Jackson pouted. Stiles almost felt remorse for laughing. Nah… he hid the last of his chuckle behind his palm.

       “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The apologies were mostly for show. Can’t have Percy hating him already. “He’s cute. He’s a Blue Heeler, right?” Jackson nodded. “You can let him go. I like dogs.”

       “Whatever. Your funeral. He still bites Lydia every time she comes around.” Percy sprinted over to him the second Jackson released him. He jumped on his hind legs to reach Stiles from his high chair. Stiles used his limited training from the K9 dogs to gain his trust. Instead of nipping him, Percy licked his hand enthusiastically. Stiles giggled at the ticklish touch. He remained by Stiles’s side even when Jackson called or him. What can he say? Stiles was born with a gift.

       “Lydia’s going to be pissed when I tell her about this.” Jackson smirked, staring in shock at how cordially he treated Stiles. “As cute as your new bromance is, I’m going to put him back outside. If we take him upstairs, he’ll be all over the fucking place.” He snapped his fingers twice. “Come on. Outside.” Percy reluctantly trotted over to the glass door, sparing Stiles a glance before he pushed through his automatic doggy door. With the press of a button, Jackson locked it shut. “What did you do to my dog?” They both watched Percy wait erect on the other side of the glass. “He’s usually running laps around the fence by now.”

        “That’s a product of the Stilinski Charm.” He winked.

     “Or maybe, he identifies with you because you’re both hyperactive little shits who like to complicate my life. Him with his disgusting piss puddles. And, you with your…” He tracked his eyes up Stiles’s body. Stiles felt a visceral burn flood through his body. “Everything.”

       He masked the heat with a forced snicker. “You’re right. Wait until we start ganging up on you. You’ll be putty in our hands (and paws).” He added at the last minute. Jackson chuckled, rotating away from him. Eventually, when Jackson walked back into the kitchen, Percy dashed away from the glass. He gave up thinking he would let him back inside. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

       “I figured you might be. Can you grab the plate from the microwave? I’ll get all the unhealthy shit Danny leaves over here.” His voice trailed off when disappeared into a walk-in pantry. Stiles hopped off the stool. “And get drinks too!!!” Bossy. Stiles kept his mouth shut since Jackson was feeding him. He opened the microwaved to find four slices of steamy leftover Meat Lover’s Pizza. Score! He pumped his fist high in the air. “Are you celebrating the pizza?”

        “Hey! One is allowed to be excited whenever pizza is involved. Wow. Danny left all of that?”

        Jackson exited his pantry magically carrying three family –sized bags of chips, an bulk sized container of assorted candy, brownies, Oreos, and a tub of Goldfish. “He keeps insisting we need to do a snack run every time he comes over here. This is just what I could grab.” Stiles was afraid to see the rest of their collection. “Did you grab drinks?”

        “Oh right.” With his free hand, he opened the fridge. “Let’s see. Half two liter of Coke. Water bottles. Lemonade. Orange Juice. Oooo. Cream soda. I haven’t had that in months.”

        “Water for me.” Stiles grabbed their drinks, deciding to opt for a water too. Caffeine this late at night was never good. Especially since his Adderall was currently out of his possession. “Lead the way, Son of Poseidon.” He cracked his final Percy Jackson joke.

        “Fuck off. Just for that, I’m kicking you’re ass in Mortal Kombat. I was gonna spare you.”

        “No need. I’m a beast.”

        “We'll see about that.” With their goods, Jackson led them back upstairs. 

* * *

 

         “Nooooo! YOU CHEATED!” Stiles yelled, throwing his hands at the TV. He grimaced at the screen, still not grasping how Jackson kicked his ass so quickly. He was the reigning champion at these old fighting games back home.

         “That’s called skill, baby.” Jackson responded smugly. He wanted to rip that expression off his face. Or kiss it. No, definitely rip, kissing it would cause him too much pleasure.

       “Don’t wiggle those caterpillars at me, ya big cheater. Ask your question **.** ” That was the game. The winner asked the loser anything he wanted. The loser must answer truthfully until the winner was satisfied. He could only imagine the embarrassing questions ready to spill out of his mouth.

        “Tell me about New York.” Oh. Stiles sighed in relief. He expected something filthy and humiliating. Like, are you a virgin? To which Stiles could happy replied ‘no.’ Stiles wanted to talk about New York. He hasn’t since thought about it since he left. Just to be a dick, he taunted him.

        “New York is a northeastern state that borders five other states: Pennsylvania-”

        “You know what I mean, dick.” Jackpot. Jackson threw his skittles wrapper at his head.

        “I know.” He grinned, swatting it away. “Where do I even start? I moved to the city when I was ten right after my mom passed. We lived in this small two bedroom apartment in a massive- and I’m talking colossal- apartment tower in the Bronx.” He spread his arms wide, as if to convey the true size. “There were like two other towers to the complex too. And, each one was about 20 stories tall and had multiple wings. It was overwhelming at first, living around all those people, but my neighbors were all super kind.

        “I spent most of my time with our neighbors on the left, a pair of siblings. When they first moved in, I thought they might eat me. Turned out, they were just grieving the loss of their entire family. Since I’d just lost my mom, we grieved together. After that, they were stuck with me. They disappeared a few months before we moved here. Sucked.” He sucked in a breath at the memory of his old neighbors. Out of everything in New York, he missed them the most. “Anyway, I went to Riverdale Country School, this private school. That sucked at first. Mostly, cause everyone was rich and I felt like the cop’s scholarship kid. It got better though when I joined the JV team in eighth grade. I was there until I came here.”

        “Did you have to wear a little uniform? I’m trying to picture it. The tie, the blazer.” Jackson asked him. The taunting lilt of his voice didn’t match his calculating stare. Stiles wondered if he confused him.

        “Ha Ha. My life wasn’t Gossip Girl. There was far too much homework for that nonsense. Was my answer satisfactory?” After much deliberation on Jackson’s part, they went again. Now that he experienced the brunt of Jackson’s skill level, he put everything he had into winning the next fight. His arms tingled when he finally crushed Jackson’s character. Stiles threw his arms up in victory, matching his avatar’s stance. “That’s called skill, baby!” He taunted, clucking his teeth. Jackson didn’t look so hot now that he was the loser.

        “Let’s get this over with.”

        “Alright…” Stiles faked pondering a question. In reality, he thought of his question before the game even started. He figured he start with the toughest. “What’s up with the group? Why pretend you all hate each other when you’re really close friends?” Jackson’s entire body stilled. There was a story behind it; Stiles knew it!

        “We’re not pretending. I mean- I do actually despise McCall; I think he’s an idiot. No offense.” Stiles shrugged; everyone was entitled to their opinion. “Erica’s loud and nosy and she can’t keep her mouth shut. When Isaac’s not around Scott, I actually don’t mind him. He’s a funny dude. That rarely happens though so, he’s mostly aggravating. Don’t _even_ get me started on Lydia. I don’t know how we stayed together for as long as we did. Allison and Boyd are cool. They don’t piss me off.”

         “See, that’s what I don’t get. Normal people hang out with people they actually like.”

        “That’s just how it is. We share a… mutual friend. He’s older than we are. You don’t know him but maybe one day you’ll meet. Again.” He distracted Stiles with video games before he could ask any more questions. Stiles shifted his eyes to the screen but his mind was mentally on Jackson’s words. His answer was vague; Stiles hoped for more. Who was the mutual friend? The better question was what older person wanted to hang out with a bunch of teenagers? “Did you even try on that one?” Stiles pulled away from his theories. He forced himself to focus on the screen. His character lay in a bloodied crumple on the ground.

        “Not really. Congratulations, you get a freebie.” He batted his eyes playfully in his direction.

        “When did you realize you were madly in love with me?” Jackson winked.

        He almost spit soda; he laughed so hard. “You wish I was madly in love with you. I’m the best lover a person could have.” Jackson gave him that look, as if to say _Bitch Please._ “Don’t hate. I’m awesome and you crave my company. Whatever. Anyway, there wasn’t one particular moment. Or maybe there was. I first admitted it to Scott and then Danny, and Lydia a few days ago.”

        “I know. I have the paper to show for it.” Jackson said, cackling as he pointed to his desk.

        “Shit! We forgot to get that back from you.” His entire body burned from the embarrassment. “I always thought you were hot. Not that you need another person telling you that. I don’t think I entertained the idea until I saw your name on all the high scores. I’m powerless against sexy, unattainable dorks. What about you?”

        “Are you surrendering from the game; thereby admitting I am superior to you in every way?”

        Stiles cared about his answer more than this video game. That’s the only reason he nodded in agreement. Jackson congratulated himself while he cleaned up the evidence of their gaming session. Stiles tried to help. He waved him off with directions to get in the bed. He shrugged, making his way to the side closest to the door.

        “Roll over. I sleep on that side.” The slight indent told him as much. Stiles rolled until he reached the other side of the King sized bed. How he wasn’t freaking out over this was a mystery to him. Stiles’s body molded into the mattress. He burrowed under the covers, deciding he loved this mattress. The cushiony heaven was making him sleepy. Dammit.

        “You never answered my question.” He asked to keep himself awake. Stiles’s eyed followed Jackson as he flipped off the lights. Of course, tonight would be the night the moon decided to take a break. Darkness enveloped him. Now, the freak out started. Stiles dried his sweaty hands on the sheets and blinked his eyes until they adjusted to the night. Jackson must have sensed his anxiety. He switched on the TV again before striding over to the bed. A muted glow casted over the room.

       “I know what I want and I know what I don’t want.” He admitted, sliding into his side. Stiles relaxed at how much space remained between the two of them. “When you interrupted Coach’s Independence Day speech with that obnoxious laugh during your first game, you fell into the first category. I question that decision every day.”

        “No you don’t. You’d be bored in a sea of couples without me.” Stiles chortled, kicking Jackson under the covers with his foot.

         Jackson kicked him back, grinning. “Can’t argue with that. Movie?”

        “Yeah. My pick.” They pulled up Netflix. 

       

* * *

 

        Stiles’s eyes flitted open after what felt like hours. The first thing he did was look at the clock. 3:36 am. Damn. He really wanted to pull an all-nighter. His exhaustion from today’s events paired with the darkness of Jackson’s room lured him in. He shifted on the fluffy pillow top mattress underneath him, hoping the movement would jolt him awake. No luck. He rolled up on his elbows to gain a better view of the room. The wall-mounted TV cast a low glow over the room. Their movie ran so long it looped back to the Netflix main menu. Stiles pouted, he actually wanted to watch this one. He’d convince Jackson to rewatch it tomorrow.

        Silently, as to not wake him, he flipped over to face Jackson. Stiles chortled at the sight of him snoozing with his glasses distorted on his face. He lay curled onto his side. Stiles shamelessly watched the calm inhale and exhale of his chest. Out of all the looks, this one took the award. The best part, only he saw this one. Only he got glimpse of Jackson once he stripped away the designer clothes and bitches faces. Well, he, Danny, and Lydia. He tried not to think about the last one.

         “Go back to sleep.” Jackson mumbled, shocking him away from his thoughts. His eyes remained shut as he removed his glasses. It amused Stiles when he reached behind him to place them on the nightstand. He fell asleep like this often. Without another word to Stiles, he shifted back into place. Stiles thought that gave him more time to admire him. Not even five minutes later, Jackson caught him. “Stiles. Sleep.”

        “I don’t want to.” He whined back. He knew if he thought about sleep that he would lose the battle. So, he thought about Jackson and his silly glasses and his soft lips.

        “Tell me what you want then.” Jackson asked, his voice heavy low and practically pornographic. His eyes opened slowly to stare back at him. Stiles stomach clenched at the darkness in his eye. He didn’t originally want that but now he did. Right now, he wanted nothing more. His muscles felt sluggish but he worked them until half of his body hovered over Jackson’s. Stiles avoided his eyes by gliding his nose along the line of his neck. Jackson tilted his neck up, giving him more room. Stiles smiled at the gesture causing his teeth to scrape against his jaw.

        “I dream about this sometimes.” He whispered, soaking in his little groan. “I just never thought you’d-” Jackson pressed a kiss to his collarbone, stopping the rest of his thoughts. The heat from his mouth lit his skin afire. Stiles clamped his eyes shut, as if that would block out the rush of emotions overtaking him.

        “Stiles. Look at me.” He protested but Jackson didn’t give him much of a choice. A warm hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling him so they laid eye to eye. The same overwhelming desire he felt reflected in Jackson’s eyes. Stiles breathed him in. His parted lips. His relaxed expression. There was only one word to describe him: beautiful. Stiles shivered. Never in his year of drunken hookups and booty calls had he felt such raw tension. Staring at Jackson, he realized he wasn’t alone. “You gonna lay there or you gonna kiss me?”

        “Bossy.” Only Jackson would be this impatient. He brushed his lips against Jackson, taunting him. Stiles lightly trailed his fingers above the waistband of his bottoms. Jackson leaned into the touch, begging him for it. When he withdrew, Jackson growled at him. Teasing him just became his all-time favorite hobby. Stiles chuckled.

        “I hate you.” He yanked Stiles down by the neck, sealing their lips together. Stiles was more than happy to yield to his pleasure. He gave Jackson the control to kiss him, touch him, and taste him. They moved against each other without the pressure of rushing. Maybe, if he weren’t so tired he’d push for more. He’d pay more attention to the sizeable bulge pressed against his side. For now, he was satisfied with kissing him lazily while combing his hands through the soft tendrils of his hair. It seemed like forever before they separated. Stiles shifted away to control his choppy breathing. The second he shifted away Jackson, the asshole, laid kisses up and down his neck. A loud mixture between a moan and a groan slipped from his lips.

         “I want you to ask me a question.” Jackson whispered, nipping his ear with his teeth. Stiles didn’t know how he managed word. He was still gasping for breath. “I want you to ask me what I like most about you.”

         “What do you like most about me?” It took him awhile but he repeated the question back using a rough, distorted version of his voice. He felt Jackson’s smile on his neck.

        “Your moles.” He ran his lips over the one under his right ear. “Sometimes, when you think I’m glaring at you, I’m really trying to figure out which one is my favorite. I can’t decide.” Stiles gulped.

        “I have more. You’ll see them one day.”

        “I plan on it. Until then, go to sleep.” He pressed a lingering kiss on Stiles’s mouth before flipping over. Jackson refused to turn over even when Stiles glared at his back. After five minutes of nothing, Stiles surrendered. He forced his eyes closed hoping sleep would take him. 

* * *

        Jackson waited thirty minutes for Stiles to finally fall asleep. He shuffled restlessly for ten minutes, messing up the sheets as he turned. Finally, once he stopped moving, Jackson thought it was over. He shifted one foot down onto the floor silently. No movement came from him. His second foot barely touched the floor when Stiles spoke out.

        “ _Stupid twitter followers.”_ Stiles gave a tiny mumble. Jackson froze; his heart thumped out against his chest. He peered over to see his face. Stiles’s eyes were closed and his mouth agape. He didn’t linger on that sight for too long, knowing it would distract him from his plans. _“Don’t lock the car! They will eat me.”_

        Stiles was a sleep talker. When they first met, he would have found that annoying. (Now, it’s oddly endearing.) Jackson chuckled, no longer worried about waking him up. Clearly, he wasn’t as light of a sleeper as he thought. With his phone in his hand, he strolled down the stairs, keeping his pressure light on the hardwood flooring. On the second to last steps, Stiles muttered his next line of nonsense. Something about a bar wench and a hobbit. Ridiculous. That mouth was going to be his downfall. He groaned just thinking about it. The way his pliant, wet mouth fit against Jackson was going to haunt his dreams forever.    

        He pulled himself together long enough to slip out the backdoor. The late October chill settled around his skin. Compared to the heat in his house, the cold welcomed him. The second he turned on the porch light, Percy skittered over to him. Jackson figured he’d be awake. After meeting strangers, whether he liked them or not, his thick body always vibrated in excitement for hours. “Hey Perce. You liked Stiles huh?” Percy yipped, nuzzling into his hand. “Yeah, me too buddy. Go play.”

        Percy nipped his hand before sprinting for his red ball. Jackson chortled. He figured they’d play a quick game if he came out here. When he first expressed wanting a Blue Heeler, his father was reluctant. He told Jackson they were too restless. That they had a penchant for disrespectful and aggressive behavior. To this day, he never regretted his choice. There were problems (piss puddles) but he loved him. He tossed the ball closer to the light so, he could find it.

         Jackson used the break to fill his bowls before settling down on the top step. They played an easy game of catch as he contemplated over Stiles’s words. _I spent most of my time with our neighbors on the left, a pair of siblings. When they first moved in, I thought they might eat me. Turned out, they were just grieving the loss of their entire family._ It’s hell of a coincidence if you ask him. How many pairs of siblings lost their entire family and decided to move into a miniature apartment in Bronx, New York. He didn’t figure many. It also explained why Derek was so averse to Stiles’s involvement with the pack.

      His hand hovered over Derek’s name in his recent calls list. Having any conversation with Derek was like solving a puzzle. Sometimes that puzzle was easy and effortless. Maybe even fun. Other times, that puzzle would be difficult and piss you off. He hoped this particular conversation was the former.

        “What’s wrong?” He answered the phone in a rough, sleepy tone. Jackson sighed. Looks like this one was of the difficult nature. “Jackson?” His voice wavered, as he grew more concerned. “Do I need to-?”

        “No.” The last thing he wanted was Derek barging over here with Stiles right upstairs. Jackson paused one final moment to think about his next words. He never actually planned past the part of calling him. “You were Stiles's neighbor, weren't you?” That wasn’t too bad right. Instead of growling or reminding him of his place, Derek sighed. Jackson sensed the exhausted lilt to his tone.

        “Yes.” His terse answer wasn’t enough for him. He wanted answers. These days Derek tried to tell them everything. Why would he keep something this big a secret? “This need to remain between us. Can I trust you with that?”

        His forehead dented with a frustrated frown. “Derek, if I haven’t proved myself to you by now…”

        “You have but, I also understand the struggle between following your Alpha and following your hormones.”   

        His words floated between them, their meaning a heavy weight on their hearts. Jackson was the second of the pack to find out about Kate and Derek’s past. Lydia told him one night while they were avoiding homework. Until now, the topic remained an unspoken truth among the pack. It’s cliché but he felt honored Derek trust him enough to bring it up now. Even if, it was an implication. “You have my word.” He answered honestly, giving into the strong urge to be loyal to his Alpha. “Is that why you won’t allow him to attend pack nights? Because you two know each other?” He, Danny, and McCall have been pestering Derek about the issue for a month now. It’s all starting to make sense.

        “We don’t just _know_ each other.” Derek paused, as if Jackson’s supposed to understand his statement. After a dramatic breath, he tried again. This time using words Jackson comprehended. “We moved into our apartment a few months after the Stilinskis. They’d just lost his mom and his dad was never there. He left a miserable ten-year-old alone, all the time. There were many nights Laura and I heard him sobbing himself to sleep. Obviously, we weren't any better but she was always a sucker for the underdog.

        “After Laura talked with the Sherriff, he was always just there. Laura would make us sit at the kitchen table until we finished every ounce of our homework. Then, she always tried to find something that would keep us both entertained. It never really worked. I was too busy thinking about how annoying he was. He was important to Laura, though. And, she was all I had left. He got less aggravating over the years. Anyway, I say all that because Laura was a big part in his life. He worshiped her. To Stiles-” And, he stopped abruptly. Jackson pushed the phone closer to his ear. The tiny noises coming from the other side were unmistakably sniffles. He felt awkward witnessing his tender moment. Jackson lowered the phone to his lap, giving him the semblance of privacy. He smoothed his hand over Percy’s head, now resting on his lap. It gave him something to focus on until Derek cleared his throat. “To Stiles, she’s still out there somewhere, alive. I can’t do that to him and neither should you.” He never thought of it like that. Thinking about it now, he saw how that would be devastating to someone. That didn’t make Derek’s plan any less stupid.

         “Ok. So, you’re just going to avoid him forever?”

        “It’s worked so far.” That nonchalant attitude was starting to trigger his temper. Percy nuzzled his hand cautiously. The grimace painted on his face shifted into an appreciative grin. Percy always knew.

        “Derek, he’s not the new kid anymore. How are you going to avoid him now? He and McCall are attached at the hip. Erica, Lydia, and Allison adopted him as their new project. He probably spends more time with Danny than I do! Even Isaac laughed at one of his jokes tonight and he hates him because of Scott.”

        “And, what about you, huh?” Derek challenged. The question stunted him. “If Stiles is all those things to all those people, why are YOU coming to me with this?” He let a growl slip from his mouth. “Watch yourself.” Derek scolded him immediately. He balked at the raw power to his words. “You started this. Not me. If you want Stiles in the pack, tell me why.” He thought about the question, shifting on the concrete tiles of their deck. Neither he nor Stiles are sure what they’re doing with each other. They’re straddling the fence between ‘let’s go steady’ and ‘why are you so entertaining?’ He settled for the truth. They needed more of that around here.

        “I like him ok! But, you already know that. Regardless, it’s not about you or me. It’s about the pack. That’s what you’re always telling us right? If he has a connection with everyone in the pack, **including you** , why not accept him. He’s going to find out about you eventually, especially with Erica yapping in his ear. So, would you rather him find out from you or them?” When Derek respond, he figured he oversold it. Hell, he was probably already on his way over here to teach him a lesson. As if Percy understood their conversation, he flicked his head towards the back door. _That’s right Perce. Let’s run away from the big bad Alpha._

        “Tomorrow at one. We’ll meet at Wings. Invite Danny and Scott. And don’t be late or I’ll forget this conversation happened.”

        Jackson smirked. Satisfaction coursed through his veins as he shot a group text off to Danny and McCall. He thrust his fist twice in the air before yanking it down. He was spending far too much time with Stiles.  He, Jackson Whittemore, beta, bested Derek Hale, Alpha. If they had a scoreboard, it would read:

**Jackson: 1     Derek: 0**

        “We’ll be there.” He doesn’t bother masking his elation from Derek. He could hear it regardless. “I’ll let you get back to your beauty rest.” He stood up from the steps, preparing to head back inside.

        “You better. Calling me at four in the morning with this nonsense.” He grumbled. Wow, was it really that late? Jackson checked the time on his phone. 4:29am. Oh. He shrugged unapologetic. They accomplished things tonight (or this morning.) “Oh and Jackson,” He turned back into the conversation. “Stiles is that annoying little brother I never wanted but, make no mistake, if you harm or touch him, I will tenderize your body and serve it to Percy. After I let the Sheriff shoot you in the foot with wolfs bane bullets.” He gave an evil chuckle. “Sleep tight.” The line disconnected. Gulp.

**Jackson: 1      Derek: Infinity**

        “Wanna sleep with us Perce? The big bad Alpha might get us.” He whispered, sliding the door open for him. Percy gave a quiet bark. With all his excess energy burned away, Percy walked sleepily inside the door. He waited for Jackson to lock everything in place. Best dog ever, Jackson smiled down at him. “Stiles is upstairs sleeping so no biting!” He clamped his mouth around his nuzzle and released to show that he was serious. “I meant it, Percy. We like this one.” Percy smiled up at him. Danny doesn’t believe him when he tells him about these moments. Next time, he’ll take a picture. Jackson pushed his bottom towards the stairs. Silently, they strolled through his dark, empty house to his room. They settled into bed, Percy at their feet and Jackson on his side. If he shifted closer when Stiles draped an arm tightly around his waist, that’s his business. Not Derek’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!!!!!!!! Sorry, I'm a bit hyper. I turned 21 today. YAYYY!!! *PARTAY*  
> Anyway...thanks for reading! Hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :D  
> Your comments and kudos are the absolute best.  
> If you wanna talk about teen wolf, stackson, or anything else, I'm over @ manspirations.tumblr.com! See ya :)


	7. Reunited and it Feels so... Shut Up Stiles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan was simple. Stiles and Derek were to reunite at Wings. Then, the plan changed. Dammit Peter!

_What is that noise?_ Stiles cringed away from the piercing howl coming from Jackson's empty spot on the bed. Last night, he dreaded sleep. Now, he wanted to stay in bed all day. With a bed this soft, he wasn’t ever getting up. If only that thing would stop screeching in his ear. He buried his head under the closest pillow, hoping that would absorb the sound. Nope. These were the best and worst pillows ever. Given no other choice, he forced his eyes opened. Sunlight drove away the delicious darkness. For a moment, he felt disoriented. Until he remembered last night. He stayed at Jackson’s house and they ate a shit ton of unhealthy food and played Mortal Kombat and made out. That thought put a lazy smile on his face. Was it possible to have a hangover without the alcohol? It definitely felt like it. He propped himself up, stopping short when he caught Percy frowning at him from the foot of the bed.

       “Hey Percy.” He greeted him. Jackson must have brought him in after Stiles fell asleep. They stared at one another until Percy grew bored. He huffed at Stiles, glared at Jackson’s howling phone, and laid back down. Within seconds, he was snoozing again. Stiles wished life were that easy. The howling stopped. He didn’t get his hopes up. Mystery Caller had been calling non-stop since he woke up. When the phone didn’t sound for ten minutes, Stiles settled back into bed. He was right on the cusp of sleep and then howling. “GAHHHHHH!” His outburst shocked both he and Percy. He tossed Stiles a frightened expression before escaping from the room.

        Later, when he looked back on his life, Stiles was going to regret this decision. He answered. “WHAT.” Stiles barked into the earpiece, praying this wasn’t Jackson’s parents.

      “Well, someone’s certainly feeling snippy today. We have been calling you, little beta.” The stranger’s words percolated in his mind, setting off multiple alarms. He hasn’t heard the word ‘beta’ in months. His attention snapped to the gruff voice in the background. Someone scolded the stranger, starting an obnoxious bickering session. Their voices were starting to aggravate him. Where the fuck was Jackson? “Fine. Fine. Here.” A second of static filtered through.

       “Peter, go do something useful.” This new voice was familiar to him. Stiles listened closely to Peter rumble before his voice disappeared completely. “Where have you been? I’ve called you like eight times.”

        “No kidding.” Stiles muttered, catching himself before he spoke anymore.

      “Whatever. You’re here now.” Mystery caller hadn’t realized he wasn’t Jackson. Good. They intrigued him, especially this guy. He swore he knew him from somewhere. “Change of plans. Peter’s in a mood and decided to grill out. “

        “TELL HIM TO BRING SOME ICE! AND, MAYBE SOME DRINKS. NON-ALCOHOLIC OF COURSE.”

         “Shut up, Peter. You don’t have to get ice or drinks. Everyone’s invited. Bring Stiles. Percy too if you want. Some of his food is still in the pantry.” It took mystery caller saying his name all demanding and growly for him to figure it out. He gasped. That was impossible. Stiles opened his mouth but silence poured out. He looked like a gaping fish with his mouth opening and closing. 

       “Derek?” Finally, he managed one word. It was shaky and uncertain but it was out there. Click. The bastard hung up on him. If he wasn’t fully awake, he was now. Sitting Criss-Cross Applesauce, he redialed Derek’s number in a frenzy. Each time, the jackass sent it to voicemail. It was just like Derek to screen his freaking calls. He wasn’t giving up. Stiles ran for his phone in Jackson’s bathroom. One missed call, 3 texts, and 21 twitter notifications. He’ll deal with all of that later. Stiles pinned the number in, saving it before calling him. Maybe, he could trick him into answering.

          “This is Derek Hale. Leave a message.” Dammit! Stiles cursed. He should have waited a few minutes before calling him on his own phone. Unlike the other five times, he left a voicemail.

         “Derek fucking Hale, stop ignoring my calls. How come we’ve been in the same ridiculous town for MONTHS and you haven’t told me, huh? And, I know you knew I was here. What with that ‘Bring Stiles’ bullshit. Were you having your little minions spy on me? Because, that’s low. Though, if that’s true, I have you to thank for Jackson. Guess that one backfired on you. I’ll make sure you hear all the raunchy details if you don’t answer me. And, where’s Laura huh? Is she here, too? Seriously, I’m going crazy over here. If you don’t answer me the next time I call you…I’m going to skin both of your tight werewolf asses. Don’t try-”

          “You know about werewolves?” Of course, Jackson would chose now to show his face. Stiles swiveled around neurotically, ready to turn his ire on him. His mouth dried up when he caught sight of him. Staring uncomfortably at Stiles in his doorway, sweating profusely. A low pair of running shorts hung on his hips. In the locker room, he’s seen Jackson shirtless plenty of time. Those times compared nothing to watching him now. Trailing the tiny drops of sweat down his abs until they absorbed in the mesh material of his shorts. Some caught on the tiny dark hair right above his waistline. He ran his hand over that spot just a few hours ago. Jesus Christ. Stiles whimpered, causing Jackson to smirk. He sauntered further into his room, emptying his pockets on the couch. Stiles watched him shamelessly. “You should probably…” Jackson broke the silence, pointing to the ongoing voicemail in his hand. Oh, right.

          “Don’t answer then. We’re coming to you anyway.” He jammed his finger against the red button. “And you.” He pointed his phone in Jackson’s direction, trying his hardest to glare and not stare. “Stop distracting me with your sexiness. Shower. We’re leaving for Derek’s in fifteen. Talk in the car.” Stiles grabbed his pile of clothes and the extra toothbrush and toothpaste to ready himself in the downstairs bathroom. He’ll walk around aimlessly until he found it.

          “Wait. What did he want?” Jackson stopped himself from speaking Derek's name. He answered him once he stood at a safe distance away, on the other side of the doorframe. “Derek, I mean.

         “Apparently, there’s been a change of plans. Not that I knew we even had plans. Cookout at his house. Oh and Peter requests you bring ice and drinks. Also, Percy’s invited. You need me to prep him or something?” Why would he ask that? He’s supposed to be giving him shit. Not making his life easier. Stiles shook his head, disappointed at himself.

         “Naw, I can do that. You can find us something to eat though.” He grinned cheekily at him. Smarmy. Stiles grimaced jokingly.  He didn’t linger after that. Tearing through the house easier than last night, he located the bathroom. He did a modified version of his morning routine while he thought about the last few minutes. The initial fury of Derek’s impromptu appearance gave way to excitement. Derek was in Beacon Hills. Derek was mystery caller/ mutual friend to all of his friends. Which meant Laura was here too. They never went anywhere without each other. Or maybe she was back in New York. If Laura were here, she would have banged on his door the moment he blew into town. She was persistent like that. Stiles couldn’t wait to tell her about Jackson. She’d squeal in delight that he finally found himself the semblance of a boyfriend. Ever since Stiles started looking at girls and boys different, she promised him his time for love was around the corner. “ _Stiles, you’re turning into a hot piece. It’s inevitable.”_ She’d always say. They’d ignore Derek’s rude chortle and toss around thoughts on his perfect guy or girl.

 “Stiles! You almost ready?” Jackson called out to him. Wow, he wasted fifteen minutes in here pawing at his slightly wrinkled clothes from yesterday. “I found Banana Nut muffins.”

            “Coming!” He shouted back, sparing one more look in the mirror. He refused to let them see him like this. “Hey, you have some clothes I can wear? I look ridiculous.”

           “Yeah. Hold up.” There was ruffling on the other side. He listen to Jackson bound up the steps. While he was gone, Stiles emptied his pockets. He set his phone, keys, and wallet atop the counter. Feeling around as long last check, he came across the thick white envelope from last night. The one Wesley from that band Seventh Avenue gave them. He forgot about it until now. Stiles looked at the door, wondering if they should open it together. Nah. He tore open the envelope, taking a seat on the Whittemore’s cushiony toilet seat cover.

**First Daters,**

**At least, I hope you’re the first daters, if not sorry I gave you the wrong envelope. Clumsy me ;) If you are, hey! Glad to see you came up for air long enough to open our note. Thanks for letting us embarrass you. It was fun. Here’s a token of our appreciation. It’s probably too much but oh well. We’ve never really grasped the idea of restraint. We hope you have friends to share this. As we said… we went overboard. Cheers to your newly found love (or deep like), Seventh Avenue.**

        Stiles chuckled as he turned to the second paper. It was a loose itinerary for a four-day vacation in Los Angeles. Stiles gawked at the pictures Wesley provided of the vacation home. The place was huge! He read the description. " _Private Gated Hollywood Hills Estate, four Bedrooms, Jacuzzi, Flat Screens in Every Room, Chef, Driver, and Maid provided upon request."_

          Holy. Fuck. He scanned the paper, dying for more information. At the very bottom of the paper, Wesley’s now familiar scrawl caught his eye.

**That’s not all our little lovers. Look inside the envelope. Now don’t get all crazy. These aren’t even selling yet. Our little secret, kay? See you then.**

           You didn’t have to tell him twice. Stiles yanked the envelope, accidentally ripping the seams. Six concert tickets floated to the floor. He gathered them as if they might rip in his hands. Seventh Avenue, June 5, Center Floor, Section 1, Row 1. All five included VIP access.

         “JACKSON!” He belted, throwing open the door. He and Jackson collided because he flung himself around the corner. Everything in their hands dropped to the floor between their aching bodies. “Read that.” He gestured to the scattered papers on the carpet. Ignoring his embarrassment and Jackson’s bewildered frown, he gathered up the clothes and escaped into the restroom. Listening to Jackson’s gasps and faint mumbles as he changed forced a wide smile on his face. Dressed in surprisingly fitting black jeans and a matching shirt, he left the bathroom. Between their collision and now, Jackson relocated to the kitchen island. He leaned against it, patiently waiting for him while reading over the papers.

          “Crazy as shit right?!!” He bounced on the balls of his feet. Stiles snatched the second muffin from his hand, eating most of it in one bite.

        “Danny says if we don’t invite him and Ethan he’ll never forgive us.” Jackson responded with a genuine grin on his face. Stiles chuckled. Of course, Danny and his boyfriend were invited. Everyone was invited. The place did have four bedrooms. “You look good in that.” Jackson ran his appreciative gaze over his body. He felt naked under his appraisal. “You ready to get this over with?”

          Reality crashed back to him. Derek. Cookout. Stiles nodded, letting the anxiety slide over his face.

         “It’ll be fine. Danny and Scott will be there. And Erica too, if you two are thing now.” He patted his cheek, a motion Stiles pulled 24 hours ago. Already they were mirroring each other quirks. Stiles snorted. He led Jackson and Percy to the front door only to have Jackson pull him to the garage. “Like I’m letting this beast in my Porsche. We’re taking my mom’s car.” It’s the first time Jackson mentioned his parents. Stiles held his tongue. The questions bubbled inside of him. They piled into his mother’s car, a black sleek SUV, after he buckled Percy into his doggy seat belt. Once the garage door went up, the SUV rolled smoothly away from the house. With the exception of Percy’s excitable barks, they drove silently. Stiles preoccupied himself with the waiting notifications on his phone. He dealt with the ones from his dad first. One miss call and a text.

**_Just checking up on you. How was the Festival? I want you home by nine. Stop that scowling. It's a school night._ **

          Stiles smoothed the scowl off his face. With the exception of his bogus nine o'clock curfew, he loved his dad. But seriously? Stiles's curfew has been nine o clock for years. He's less than a year shy of being a legal adult. Stiles rattled off something parent appropriate but still exciting. He relayed their won vacation and choose one of those twitter photos to send him. One where he wasn’t munching on Jackson’s face. He liked the superhero pose best. First because his muscles looked amazing. Mostly, he thought Jackson’s unimpressed expression was equal parts him and Tony Stark. After he agreed to his curfew, he moved on to Scott’s message. 

**_Bro!!!! I missed your epic moment last night with my puking stomach :[ Heard it was amazing! Derek said you might drop by the cookout w/ Jackass. YOU BETTER! I know we have to talk. Can’t wait! :]_ **

          Stiles smirked at his message, slightly confused. Usually, Scott’s messages are faintly incoherent mutterings. He told Scott he was on his way and left it at that. They had the entire day to bro-bond. The final message he thought would be from Danny or even Erica. He never expected Isaac. Curiously, he opened the message, pondering at how even had the boy’s number. Probably Erica.

**Hey Stiles. It’s Isaac. Fair warning: Scott is tripping on some shit today. It’s weird.**

         Stiles saw his message for what it was: an olive branch. The worst thing in the world wouldn’t be getting along with Scott’s other best friend, boyfriend, or whatever. They could gang up on Scott together. He responded to him.

_I got that vibe from his message. Thanks for the warning. Squirt him with water or something ;)_

**I did. I have the battle wounds to prove it. He’s REALLY excited you’re coming. Derek threatened to lock him in a room and feed him his meal through the tiny slit.**

           That sound exactly like Derek, Stiles chuckled. He found comfort in realizing his sourwolf was the same old grumbly asshole. Stiles wondered if Derek told them all about their past. He decided to play it safe and assume he hadn’t.

_Lol that’s cruel. We’re on our way. We can tame him together._

**Haha nope. I’m bowing out. He’s all yours today.**

            “What’s so funny?” Jackson asked him from the driver’s seat. Stiles returned his phone to his pocket. His smile was marginally larger than when he took it out.

          “Isaac.” He could hear the unspoken questions whirling around Jackson's brain. Stiles changed the subject quickly. “So werewolves, huh?” At his words, Jackson swerved into the next lane. They righted themselves quickly. His face remained stoic, though. Stiles was going to have fun with this. “You know that actually makes a shit ton of sense. Especially, the hearing. I can almost guess who too.”

            “Yeah? You think so?” Jackson finally found his bearings. He smirked over at Stiles. “Care to make it interesting? If you get even one wrong, you lose. Loser pays for Peter’s ice and drinks.” He accepted that challenge. With the signs clear to him, he could pinpoint them easily.

            “And if I’m right, you’ll use that realistic fake ID of yours and get us the good drinks on top of Peter’s stuff. Whoever that is.” He quirked an eyebrow at him, daring him to agree. Jackson’s smirk faltered but he wasn’t going to back down. He saw the fire in his eyes. They stared at each other until the car behind them honked rudely. Thank goodness, Stiles wasn’t driving. He’d flip them off in a heartbeat.

           “Deal. Not one wrong.”

           He so had this. “Obviously you and Derek. I say no to Lydia and Danny. They warned me against speaking so loud. I don’t know Allison well enough but she doesn’t scream werewolf to me. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd a big yes. Erica heard you perfectly that night. Isaac and Boyd looked up as we approached the group last night. We were too far away for normal people to hear our conversation. Danny’s boyfriend and his twin did too, so yes to them. I’m going to go off on a limb and say this Peter as well. He called you little beta, which hilarious by the way.”

             “No. It’s not. Peter’s annoying. What about McCall?” Jackson gritted, turning into the store’s parking lot.

           “He’s a hard one. On one hand, he was worried about the hearing and werewolves don’t get tummy aches. On the other, his mom reminds him to carry his inhaler but he makes it through every practice without the barest of wheezes. Odd case. I’ll go with he’s a special kind of werewolf. But Werewolf none the less.” Jackson stared at him with a mixture of admiration and disappointment. Stiles preened. “Chop Chop. The clocks ticking, babe.”

            “Don’t call me that.” He smiled as he admonished him.

           “Sure thing, sugar lips. We’ll be right here when you get back.” Stiles winked, admiring his ass as he stomped into the store. “See that, Percy?” He turned around to pet him. “That’s what defeat looks like.” He let the pooch lap at his hand without protesting. When he got bored of slobbering on his hand, he stuck his head back out the window. They waited twelve minutes for Jackson to slump out pushing a cart. The sight was unbelievably domestic. Out of courtesy, he helped him load the four packs of ice, three cases of store-brand soda, two water cases, two cases of some fancy Microbrew, and a case of Bud Light Lime. “Are you feeding an army?”

         “Eight werewolves, two teenage girls who can pack away just as much, Danny and you, the bottomless pits. You wish we were feeding an army.” He emphasized the last word by slamming the trunk closed. “Get in. We have a drive. Derek lives on the edge of town.”

            “Of course he does.” Stiles hopped into the car. God forbid Derek make this any easier on them.

* * *

 

        “Shit. This is Derek’s house?” He gazed at the approaching mansion coming up at the end of the gravely driveway. They’ve been driving on this road for miles. Stiles understood why a pack of werewolves wanted to congregate out here. Nothing but woods surrounded them. His heart threatened to beat out his chest as they drove closer.

        “Yep. He finished building two months ago or something. Wait until you see the inside.” Percy barked and Jackson smiled back at him while he talked to Stiles. “He’s excited to see Shiva, Derek’s Doberman.” The first thing he did once they stopped was release Percy from his restraints. He waited for Jackson’s command before he whipped around the house. A cacophony of barks filled the sky. “It should only be a second now before they come pouring out. Derek makes us wait until everyone gets here before we can eat.”

        As if on cue, the front door burst open. In a tizzy, Erica, Scott, and Danny fought their way out the door. Stiles feared for his life when they charged towards them. Everyone besides Scott by passed him, heading straight for the drinks in the trunk.

        “Dude. Bout time you got here. I’m freaking ravenous.” Scott tackled him in a hug against the SUV. He laughed, gripping him back. 

        “Watch the paint!” A scold came from behind the car. They straightened up immediately, dreading the consequences if they didn’t watch the paint. “A little help back here, McCall.”

        “You’d think with you guys together. He’d act nicer to your best man.” Scott shouted loudly enough for him to hear that. Stiles rolled his eyes, letting them bicker endlessly. Jackson wouldn’t let him help with the drinks, much to the chagrin of the others. He celebrated the privileges of being on his good side. With his arms light, he sauntered through the entrance cautiously. He took in the open floor plan, the creamy colored walls, and homey furniture. Good for Derek, Stiles thought.

        “Try not to look so lost.” Erica whispered in his ear from behind. She cackled evilly, moving around him with two cases of the Microbrew. “This way.” He followed her swaying body through the house. They stepped through the glass patio doors right behind Danny and his bag of ice. They walked out onto a deck that looked over the backyard. An Icona Pop song blared from speakers attached the exterior walls. Erica danced her way down the steps, holding the cases of beer over her head. Stiles bobbed his head, watching her handle 48 cans of beer with ease.

         She navigated him around the tables and pool lounge chairs. He waved at Allison and Lydia as they passed them laid out on the other side of the pool. They weren’t surprised to see him, which meant Derek clued everyone in. Speaking of the sourwolf, Stiles scanned for him. He wasn’t over at the half-court basketball goal with Boyd and Isaac.

        “Hey where’s Derek?” He asked Erica. She set down the cases near the grill before answering him. She scanned the perimeter with him one more time, shrugging when they came up empty.

        “I don’t know. He was just out here before you two got here. You can sit here.” She gestured to the bar stools facing the outdoor kitchen area. “I’ll be right back.” She flounced away and Stiles was alone. Or, at least he thought he was.

        “I believe I saw my nephew hiding with the dogs around the corner.”

        Stiles jumped at the slightly familiar voice. Peter. He swiveled to get a look at the man. He was standard Hale attractive, smooth skin, jet-black silky hair, and charming smile. If he didn’t give off the serial killer vibe, Stiles would be impressed.

        “I’m Peter, Derek’s Uncle.” He beamed at Stiles, stretching his hand in Stiles’s direction. With reservation, Stiles shook it loosely. Peter made up for his nonchalance by gripping tighter.

        “I gathered. Stiles Stilinski.” Thankfully, Jackson saved from Peter’s appraising gaze. 

        “Is he bothering you?” Jackson plopped down the last bag of ice before commandeering one of the stools. “Peter. Stop being a creeper.”

        “No worries, little beta. I mean no harm to your boyfriend.” He released Stiles’s hand finally. “I was just informing him Derek was hiding out with the dogs.”

        “Well, let him hide.” He looped his arm around Stiles’s chair. Stiles took note that he accepted the boyfriend comment. “More food for us. Almost done?”  Peter nodded to his right. Stiles mouth watered at the two long rectangular tables filled with food. Burger Bar. Hot Dogs. Grilled Chicken. Ribs. Steaks. Chicken Kebabs. Salad. Chips. Potato Salad. Baked Beans. Mac and Cheese. That was only the first table. He could barely look at the second table of Deserts, fruit, and dip without moaning. There was cake! And, a lot of it. Food coma here he comes.

        “What’s the occasion?” Stiles forced aside his reservations to question him.

        “It’s not every day your nephew is reunited with his surrogate baby brother.” Peter winked at him. Stiles blushed, not willing to believe this was in honor of him. Crazy. “Adorable. Be careful or I’ll steal him from you, Dragon Tales.” In a blink of an eye, Jackson was fire breathing angry. Stiles sat frozen in his seat while Jackson’s eyes blazed bright blue. One more word out of Peter’s mouth and Jackson would kill him. Was it a jealousy thing? Or, did Jackson's anger have something to do with Peter's choice in nickname? He reminded himself to ask about it later. 

         “For fuck sakes Peter!” A low growl halted all conversation. Now Derek wanted to show up. He stalked behind the grill that separate them and Peter. He muttered words Peter’s way. Stiles used this opportunity to observe the changes in his face. Besides the beard covering his chin, he looked the same. Whatever he said, it worked. He spat an apology at them, grabbing three chicken kebabs on his way inside the house.

        “It’s over. Fix your face.” Derek focused his Alpha powers on Jackson next. Stiles watched in amazement while his features transformed before his eyes. He could count on one hand the times he witnessed Laura and Derek shift in front of him. Jackson’s face smoothed out slowly. He chuckled behind his palm when his sideburns magically disappeared into his skin. His laugh was ill timed. Derek turned his scolding glare to him. “One day and you’re already starting shit in my pack.” He heard several gasps at his words. Stiles rolled his eyes. Same old Derek.

        “If you think any of that was my fault, you’re delusional. Personally, I blame your creepily friendly uncle but, I know how you like to use me as a scapegoat.” More dramatic gasps and gossip traveled to his ear. He ignored them, in favor of glaring back at Derek. No matter how much Laura warned him in the past about goading Derek, he refused to back down. Just like back then, Derek’s body hummed in anger. He appeared one-step from ripping out his throat.

        “Get. Out. Of. My. Face.” Derek gritted through his teeth. Stiles smirked. “Shut up. Eat. And, stay the hell away from Peter.” He shot him one more death glare and stalked away. After grabbeiing two cookies, he followed behind his uncle into the house.

        “I missed you too, buddy!” He called after him. Derek’s back tensed as he disappeared into the house. “So, food anyone?” Everyone (including Jackson) gaped at him instead of crowding the food tables. “What?” He swiveled around to make eye contact with each of them.

        “Damn. You have a death wish.” Isaac brooked the silence, clapping his hand on Stiles’s back. “I could never, ever do what you just did. Balls son. You got balls.” A collective laughter filled his ears. His comment pressed the play button on the cookout. They rushed the tables. Stiles felt content, letting everyone go in front of him. Overall, he’d say his reunion with Derek went exactly as planned.

* * *

 

        Stiles excused himself shortly after the conversation switched to the newest episode of Supernatural. He would cry himself to sleep if they ruined the finale for him. He waved goodbye to Isaac, Scott, and Erica and fled the table. From their set up on the deck, a level above the backyard, he scoped for his next victims. Lydia and Allison, laid out by the pool, wasn’t a viable option. He was done with fake tanning in October weather after the Rollins festival. He considered bothering Derek and Boyd, as they chatted about god know what. Then, he subjected himself to Derek’s surliness. He moved on to Jackson, Danny, and Peter. Sometime while they held court on the deck, Peter and Jackson made up. They commandeered the outdoor kitchen area. Judging by the intense argument arising between Peter and Jackson, he wanted nowhere near that catastrophe.

        He chose the house, instead. The rude puppies had yet to give him a tour of the house. Stiles slipped inside the open patio doors. Taking in the homey furniture, he still  was flabbergasted at this being a product of Derek’s creativity. Remembering Derek received his masters in Architecture from Columbia and witnessing his work was two different things. It didn’t seem real until he strolled through the immaculate house. It was a place of pure beauty. He knew nothing of building homes but, he could appreciate the craft.

        After he moved through the entire house, he drifted back to his all-time favorite room. The sunroom sat around the corner from the living room. The cream-colored walls formed a small rotunda at the top. Filled floor to ceiling bookshelves dressed the walls. The little ladder that swung around the length of the room reminded him of Beauty and the Beast. The only other piece of furniture was a chaise in the middle of the room. Stiles peered at the bookshelf closest to him. He recognized a few classical titles from the apartment but most were new. He loved that Young Adult novels sprinkled into the mix. He imagined Derek cuddling up with The Hunger Games and loving every minute of it. A signed copy too. Impressive. Stiles snorted, placing the book back neatly in its originally place. Stiles drew his attention to the view the circular windows provided. From here, he could see over the pack in the backyard and into the preserve. Percy and Derek’s dog Shiva chased each other just inside the fence. Just beyond them, he caught the beginnings of a flourishing garden. Stiles’s mind toggled to the memory of Laura tending to the dying plant on the floor’s hall. Somehow, she revived it and kept it living for nearly for a year. Looking at the garden, Stiles grew hopeful that she was actually here. No one mentioned her today but Derek wouldn’t plant an entire garden.

        He feared he had to pass the pack again to reach it. After much searching, he found a detour to the outdoor oasis. From the front of the house, a pebble pathway led around the fenced backyard and through a small wooden gate. He jogged along the path until the loud music and the voices evaporated. No longer fearing the others would catch him snooping, his pace slowed to a stroll. He marveled at the multitude of plants and flowers. This place was so unlike Derek’s personality it was surreal. Stiles followed the trickling water. He found the source, a tiny pond surrounded by rocks. A rock waterfall flowed endlessly in the pond, creating small bubbles once it hit the water.

        He took a seat on a bench in front of it. The sight captivated him but, not for the reasons people would think. Usually, these places for serenity. Sitting here listening to the water and the wildlife around him, Stiles felt overpowering sorrow. He wondered if this was where Derek (and Peter) came to mourn their lost family members. The golden plaque posted on a large rock confirmed his suspicions.

**In Loving Memory of the Lost Hales:**

**You are missed more than you know.**

        Christ. Stiles’s heart bled for Derek as he read each of the twenty names in the order of their death. The first ones predated the fire. Stiles suspected grandparents or other important ancestors. About fifteen names fell on the same date including Derek’s mother, Talia. He didn’t want to think about that. The last one brought instant tears to his eyes. **Laura C. Hale. 1985-2011.** He collapsed back down on the bench, trying to hold himself together. He failed. Without an audience, Stiles let it all go. He cried out for her, the sunny woman who quickly became his second mom and for a period his best friend. When the others avoided her existence, he should have known. Saw her disappearance for what it was instead of wishfully thinking she’d hop out a bush and tickle him. The emotion overwhelmed him until he was nothing more than matter and melancholy.

        Stiles felt Derek’s company before he even sat down. Dissimilar to the previous encounters, Derek didn’t bicker at him, growl, or toss an unimpressed grimace his way. He didn’t envelope him either. He took the space next to Stiles silently, allowing him to mourn alone without being truly alone. The only touching was the slight brushing of their arms. He found comfort in the warmth of his arm. Stiles closed his eyes, shutting himself off from the rest of the world. He’s gone through this before. It should be a cakewalk by now. If someone asked, he couldn’t say how long they sat out there. Eventually, when his body bore chills from the cold, he opened them one at a time. His eyes had to adjust to the dusky sky. With the help of the Hale’s outdoor lighting, they adjust quickly. He felt like the sun was just out. Ridiculous, Stiles laughed at himself. He ran the back off his hand across his face, smearing his nasty accumulated bodily fluids.

        “Here.” Derek held a box of Kleenex his way. “I would have given it to you before but-” He stopped himself. Stiles understood anyway. His mood lifted at the gesture regardless.

        “Thanks.” He grabbed several, cleaning up the mess on his face. He gave Derek a small genuine smile. Those were rare, even when they lived a wall apart. Derek cleared his throat. Stiles saw the awkward tension in his shoulders. He swept his mind for appropriate words. Anything to get him to calm down.

        “Sorry about that.” All he could do was apologize. They both shuffled awkwardly on the small bench.

        “No. It’s-” He halted. “I didn’t…I hate that you had to find out this way. Or at all really.” The admission shocked Stiles. Never had he heard such unguarded truth spill from Derek’s mouth.

        “I’ve dealt with this before. I can handle it.” He despised the defensive tone in his voice when Derek was trying to connect with him. He fully expected him to grunt and go back to acting irritated.

        “Just because you’ve done this before doesn’t make it easier.” Though his response was stoic, he ignored Stiles’s little outburst. “If anything, they build on top of each other.” His face clouded over. Tentatively, Stiles patted his leg, hoping it offered some form of comfort.

        “Wow. We’re being depressing.” He blurted. Derek chuckled with him. “Sorry. I pulled you from your party.” He stood, stretching until his hands pierced the sky.

        “It’s Peter’s party and believe me, it was no hardship. They always get rowdy when the sun goes down and that was before alcohol was involved.” Derek shivered, no doubt conjuring up memories. Stiles could only imagine the shit they did in that house after dark.

        “That also might have been my fault.” He stared at his feet.

        “I figured. Jackson’s usually the more behaved out of that lot. I’m allowing it this time…special occasion and all.” Derek grinned, pushed his shoulder. Stiles nearly missed the shrubbery his body catapulted so far.

        “What the hell! No wolf powers. You know the rules!!!” He pouted dramatically. The air soothed the burned on his pasty skin.

         “New rules. I’m the Alpha now.” The brute flashed his red eyes in Stiles direction. He waved them off unimpressed. They slipped through a gate that led right to the backyard. Night lighting illuminated the pool, deck, and grill area. The speakers that used to play a Top 40s station shifted to the low hums of John Mayer. With the exception of Percy and Shiva, Peter was now the only one outside. He met eyes with Stiles from his position cleaning the grill. Sympathy flashed in his eyes before the cocky evil leer returned. Creep. Stiles nodded at him, while he dumped his handful of tissue into one of the big trash bag. Derek ushered him into a brightly lit door underneath the deck.

         “You still have nine o’clock curfews on school nights?” He asked him once the door shut behind them. Stiles rolled his eyes, hating him for the reminder. Nonetheless, he nodded yes. Derek checked a clock on the wall behind his head. “It’s 7:10 now. You need me to drop you off around 8:30?”

         “No. Jackson said he’d do it. He swore off of that magical Microbrew thing getting your wolves all tipsy. Thanks anyway.” After their little moment in the garden, he felt obliged to be kind to him. Derek nodded back, gesturing to thick Red Oak doors. “They’re in there.” He gathered that with all the screaming and laughter.

         “You’re not coming in?” He hesitated at the door.

         “I’m 24 years old.” He said, as if that was an answer enough.

         “Ok ok. Well…thanks for today.” He nervously ran fingers through his hair. The being nice thing was going to take work.

         “Anytime, Gumby.” And, things were back to normal. Stiles growled at his childhood nickname. He hated when they compared him to a tall, lanky, hyperactive green piece of clay. Derek grinned triumphantly. “If I don’t see you before you leave, you know where I live. Don’t make me regret this.” He disappeared around the corner before Stiles could retort back. Gah! Derek knew how much he hated not getting the last word. He'd just repay him by coming over ALL THE TIME. The sunroom just became his favorite place to study. With a wide smile on his face, he pushed the doors open, revealing a small home theater.

         “GUMBY!” The pack yelled at him in sloppy laughs. He grimaced, deciding that werewolves were the worst. Curse Derek for repeating his name next to heightened ears. The smiled warmly at him, oblivious to his puffy face. All except for Jackson. He raked over Stiles’s face in apprehension. He sat in one of the two oversized recliners in the room. Boyd occupied the second one. When he tapped his lap discreetly, Stiles marched over the multitude of bodies. Groans, grunts, and kissy noises pierced the air as he settled snuggly against Jackson.

        “Oh hush up.” He joked with them. After minimal argument, they returned to their inappropriate game. Without spectators, Jackson wrapped his hand tightly around his waist. The thumb on his lower back drew circles into his skin. He pressed back against the pressure.

        “You ok?” He asked so faintly Stiles almost missed it. Was he ok? No. Was he going to admit that in a room filled with drunk werewolves? Hell no. He nodded yes, though they knew his real answer. “I’m sorry. Derek really wanted to spare you.” He brushed his lips over his neck. Now that he knew Jackson’s secret, he knew each kiss was a mole. Stiles shivered, stretching up to give him more room. Jackson’s warm breath settled over his skin as he chuckled. “I figured we’d yank Perce away from Shiva in an hour.” That would put them shortly after eight. He shifted his gaze away from the group to peer back at him.

        “Why so early?”

        “We can stay if you want. I just thought you might want to take your mind off things the fun way. I could park the car at my house and run over.” He bit his ear. “Be gone before your dad gets home in the morning. Being a werewolf has its upsides.” He winked at him, clutching onto his side. Stiles most definitely wanted to fill his mind with nothing but Jackson. He was hardening just thinking about it.

        “OH MY GOD!” Their heads pivoted at Erica’s screech. Every werewolf in the room held their nose closed. Stiles burst out laughing. He forgot about that particular characteristic. “Will you just go already? I’m losing my buzz!”

       “Alright. Alright.” He surrendered with his arms in the air. “We were leaving anyway, you drunks.” Stiles words got various snack thrown at them. He caught Isaac’s Oreo in his mouth before rushing out. “I’d say we have their support. Don’t you think?” Jackson snickered at him. He swatted his butt until Stiles moved towards the yard to collect Percy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I tore at your heart strings there. I love Stiles and Derek as pseudo-brothers almost as much as I love sterek lol. Is that weird? Probably. Anyway, who cares about Sterek right now. Stackson! I don't think you guys realize how truly amazing your comments are. Seriously, they are my inspirations. So, love you!! *sniffles* I've gotten sappy enough for one day. Enjoy teen wolf tonight. I'll post next Monday :]
> 
> www.manspirations.tumblr.com


	8. Semi-Finals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first semi-finals with the Beacon Hills Cyclones. Should be interesting if Coach doesn't bench him.

        “Your dad just left the station.” Jackson purred into Stiles’s ear, forcing him awake. This marked the third day in a row Jackson spent the night in his bed. Every night was the same. They gorged on food, played video games in bed, and made out until they were too tired to move. It sounded lame but Stiles loved it. With Jackson constantly around, his mind stayed away from other depressing thoughts. He snickered at the prickling sensation. That one snicker triggered an entire tickling battle. Though he could barely breathe, Stiles managed a few licks. After he found Jackson’s spot, the smooth skin behind his left knee, the game was over. “Okay! Okay!” Jackson cried out, wiping away his tears. A few long seconds later, he pulled away. They laid limp in Stiles’s bed, laughing together. His laugh abated to a warm smile. He’s still shocked at how relax they are now.

       “I swear my heart’s going to explode.” Stiles placed his hand over his heart while Jackson pulled on his shirt and pants. “Here, feel it.” He reached over the bed to grab Jackson’s hand. Without trying, he pulled him back to the bed. Stiles laid his warm palm over the rapid drumming in his chest. It spiked even faster when his heat meshed with Stiles’s naturally cold body.

        “That’s unnatural.” Jackson smirked down at him. “Oh wait. I think it’s talking to me.” He placed his ear against Stiles’s chest. Stiles sucked in a breath but he recovered quickly.

        “Oh yeah? What’s it saying? Lub dub? Lub dub?” Stiles chuckled, running his fingers through Jackson’s slightly greasy hair. It’s surprising how the touch doesn’t disgust him.

         Jackson grinned up at him. “Actually, it’s saying my name.”

        A blush spread across his neck and over his face. “Charismatic asshole. Get out of here.” Stiles pushed his head away from his skin. Before he left completely, Stiles pulled him down for a kiss. Nonverbally, he thanked Jackson for the past 12 hours. Staying with him last night. Wiping away any shed tears. The shutting of a door stopped them from deepening the kiss.

         “I gotta go.” He kissed his nose. “Don’t be late to practice. Semi-Finals tomorrow.”

        “Yes, Captain!” Stiles saluted him, loving the irony in that sentence. Groaning, Jackson vaulted out of his window. His dad came to check on him shortly after that. Instead of pretending to sleep, Stiles beckoned him over. His dad was exhausted but he told Stiles about his date anyway. His mood brightened further once he learned of their second planned date this Saturday. With a tired smile, his dad went off to bed.

        Practice didn’t start until 7:00 AM, which meant a little less than two hours of laying here. He decided to make breakfast. With his laptop in hand, Stiles charged downstairs wearing the world’s brightest smile. He felt unusually happy. In fact, he felt so happy he started making breakfast sandwiches for the others too. He made one for his dad, Jackson, Scott, Danny, Isaac, and even Boyd. He plopped the other aluminum wrapped sandwiches in the oven before sitting down with his own. 

        In hindsight, deciding to research Laura’s death was a colossal mistake. He thought he could handle whatever he found. He located several local articles dated a little less than a year ago. In each one, the words **murder** and **unidentified killer** ripped his joyous mood away faster than he could click the “X” button.

         For an hour, he stared at his laptop’s wallpaper with a half-eaten sandwich by his side. Who the HELL would kill his Laura and then get away with it!?!? The longer he sat, the angrier he grew. At 6:50 AM, Stiles was so pissed, he could punch a wall. At that moment, he decided to the hell with practice. Stiles constructed a plan. He’d blast some heads off in his most violent game. He’d calm down. Then, he’d go to school.

         His dad caught him in front of the TV around 3:05 PM, forty minutes before school let out. He watched Stiles with a mixture of concern and disappointment. His conscience screamed to pause his mission and explain the situation. He ignored it. They spent an eternity waiting for the other to speak. After two minutes, Stiles paused the game but remained forward. He hid his dried tears.

       “Derek called me so I’ll let you have this but I want your ass in school tomorrow. You hear me?” Stiles nodded. “Good. If you need anything, you call me. Immediately.” Stiles nodded once more. “I mean it kid. You don’t have to do this alone.” His dad was wrong. If anyone knew the rage hidden inside of him, they’d find the nearest psychiatrist. The last thing he wanted was to transfer that onto someone else. His entire body vibrated, struggling to keep himself together. If his dad noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m needed at the station. I’ll be home at eight tonight. And- eat something for Christ sakes.” He left with a quick kiss to his forehead. The warm embrace burned away a portion of his wrath. When he no longer felt satisfied with all the blood and gore, Stiles shut off the game. He grabbed a banana from the bowl and slinked off to bed.

         Much later, a consistent beeping forced him awake. Blinking to adjust to the darkness, Stiles searched for his phone. His muscles protested, feeling heavy and unmovable. It took effort from his already depleted energy to grab ahold of it. He found it underneath the bed, where they probably kicked it off this morning. The backlight illuminated his room. A slew of text messages waited for him.

  1.      **Jackson (7:08) –** _you’re late. coach is fuming._  

  2.       **Jackson (10:45) –** _wtf. what happened?_  

  3.      **Scott (12:20) -** _Hey Where r u? U ok? :( :( Jackson said ur not answerin him_  

  4.      **Danny (12:32) –** _u got the puppies worried. Playing hooky w/o me? Im sad._  

  5.      **Jackson (12:40)** **–** _ugh. McCall is unbearable w/o you. Answer!_  

  6.      **Isaac (13:12) –** _Update. They are callin Derek._ _Good luck._  

  7.      **Derek (13:22) –** _Is there a reason you’re not in school right now? Call me or I’m calling your father._  

  8.      **Allison (14:05) –** _Hope you’re ok. Everyone is really worried._  

  9.      **Scott (14:47)** **–** _STILESSSSSSSSSSSSS! *sobs*_  

  10.     **Lydia (15:04) -** _Stiles, this is unacceptable. People of our academic stature don’t have the luxury of skipping school. Because I care about you, I’m sending your homework via Jackson._  

  11. **Erica (17:12)** **–** _You missed my big debut :’( Whose ass do I need to kick?  
  
_
  12. **Boyd (17:15) –** _Got your # from Allison. Why is Erica preparing for a fight?_



   13.     **Jackson (20:00) –** _Coming over._

        Jackson sent his last message at 8 o’clock. They lived no more than ten minutes away from one another. His alarm clock read 10:15. Either he came, saw that Stiles was sleep, and left or he was still here. Stiles slid from his bed, cradling his pounding head. Walking over to his front window, he counted the number of cars in the driveway. Two. His jeep and the cruiser. No Porsche in sight. Oh well, Stiles thought to himself. It was best he hadn’t exposed him to his pissy mood anyway. Stiles dragged his feet through the house. The lights were off, except for a faint glow in the living room. That meant his dad came home early, as planned.

        To avoid his dad, he almost backtracked to his room. His bellowing stomach suggested otherwise. Silently, as to not disturb him, he strolled into the kitchen. He caught him anyway.

        “There’s food for you in the microwave.” His dad called out over the local news. “Drink’s in the fridge.” Stiles, intrigued, opened the one closest to him. A brown paper bag waited for him in the microwave. The decadent aroma of freshly cooked Chinese food overwhelmed his senses. Suddenly, he was ravenous. Within three seconds, he was tearing into the Mongolian Tofu, mixed vegetables, and brown rice. His dad even choose healthier options. He was proud of him. Stiles groaned after his forth bite. In no time, all that remained was stray rice grains and a puddle of sauce. Reluctantly, he tossed the platter in the trash. With his drink (cream soda) in hand, he started the trek back to his room. At the last second, Stiles paused to thank his dad.

        “Thanks for the food.” His voice croaked, from having gone unused since this morning. His dad tracked his gaze worriedly over Stiles’s body. He gestured for him to sit down on the nearest couch. After his stunt today, he obeyed immediately. He rewarded him with a soft smile.

        “Thank that boy of yours.” He responded. Stiles’s head snapped up. “He and his dog ran over with takeout about an hour and a half ago. They stayed for a while before I drove them home. Nice kid. I may have judge him too harshly. ”

        “Yeah. I like him.” He felt too drained to stretch the truth. His dad smiled genuinely at him.

        “I can tell.” An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Usually, he and his dad never have these moments. He shifted on the couch, planning his escape route. His dad stopped spoke just before he used his excuse. “I want you to know you can come to me, Stiles.” He shook his head. “I know I didn’t handle your mom’s passing very well, but I’ve learned from my mistakes. Lau-” Stiles closed his eyes, blocking out her name. He just reached a safe place. “She was a big part of our lives too. You don’t have to handle her loss alone. You have me, and Jackson, and your other friends. You have Derek, which is a whole ‘nother conversation. I assumed you’ve been disappearing to his house all year. I can’t believe he just told you he was in town. That boy will always be a conundrum to me.” Stiles smiled at his father’s rambling. He loved when the similarities between the two of them showed. 

         “I love you, dad.” He stood to give him a big Stilinski hug. “And, I know I can come to you. I-I should probably go call Jackson.”

        “Alright. You remember what I said. Oh here’s your homework.” He accepted the thin manila folder before journeying back to his room. “SCHOOL TOMORROW.” His dad shouted up at him right as his bedroom door shut. Stiles relented, knowing if he skipped tomorrow, coach wouldn’t let him play in the game. Once he spread out the necessary school materials over his bed, he dialed Jackson.

         “Took you long enough.” Jackson answered on the second ring. Like medicine (or drugs), his voice drained away all the bad, leaving only a soft warm feeling flowing through his body. The notion should terrify him. It didn’t.

        “I was eating. Thanks for that by the way. You keep feeding me and I’ll never leave.”

        “I’ll take my chances.” He grumbled. “What happened to you today? Coach threatened to bench you until he realized we need you to win.”

        “I’m calling it a moment of weakness.” Stiles joked, diluting the implication with comedy. Something told him he was unsuccessful.

        “Damn.” He muttered a string of other obscenities. “I shouldn’t have left. Sorry.”

        “What? No. How is this any of your fault? I have to deal with it on my own. Today needed to happen whether I wanted it to or not. Otherwise, it would have festered and I’d blow up on someone. Pray you never meet an irate Stiles. I'm like Godzilla. On ecstasy.”

       “If you say so.” Jackson said, still not convinced about his role in today’s events. Stiles didn’t know how else to convince him. He changed the subject instead, asking about what happened at school. “You missed Erica re-enrolling in school. Apparently, her doctor convinced her parents that her epilepsy was under control. She has to go to summer school though. If you asked me, its total bullshit. She’s just mad we spend more time with you.”

        “Don’t be jealous. You know you’re my favorite.” Stiles laughed. “How do you know this anyway?”

       “She sat with Lydia and Allison during lunch, claiming she didn’t know anyone. That made Boyd come over causing Isaac to come over, which brought Scott. All we needed was you, Derek, and Peter creeping in the corner and it would have been a fucking pack meeting.” Stiles preened because Jackson considered him pack. Through Laura, he understood the gist of what that meant.

        “That needs to happen tomorrow when I come back. I love Erica. She better be in some of my classes.”

        “I know.” He grunted. Stiles ignored his jealousy with an eye roll. “What you up too?”

       “About to catch up on this homework. Remind me to thank Lydia tomorrow. Maybe, I’ll bring her a latte or something.” She would like that. Stiles set his alarm clock thirty minutes earlier, so that he could swing by the café nearest the school.

        “Hey! I don’t get something for bringing you food.”

        “I reward you in other, better ways.” He wiggled his eyes even though Jackson couldn’t see him.

        “True.” He replied, chuckling. “I’ll be collecting that tomorrow but I gotta go. Danny’s dragging me to that stupid club to meet Ethan. I’d invite you but you have homework. Also, we haven’t bought you a fake yet.”

        “What!?! No fair. I want to go clubbing. Is it the one with the go-go dancers and all the shirtlessness?” Jackson snickered at his pout. He knew how much Stiles wanted to check out that place when they rove passed it a few weeks ago.

        “Yep. I’ll try not to enjoy myself.”

        Stiles groaned. Curse his life. “You better. I’ll cut a hoe if they touch my man.” He cracked playfully, suddenly realizing what his words implied.

        “I’m sure you would.” He heard Jackson’s wide amused smile through the phone. “What would your father say if he could hear you now? Though, he did give me his blessing tonight.” Stiles couldn’t decide if he was happy or disappointed with his ambiguous answer. “Between my charm and Percy loving eau de Stilinski, he was one step from dropping you off with a dowry attached to your wrist.”

        “Mmmm. The things you say make me so hot.” They both cracked up. When he came up for air, he ripped the Band-Aid off. If they didn’t stop now, they’d be bantering back and forth all night. “I’ll see to you tomorrow.”

       “Yeah. Have fun with your academia.”

        “I’ll probably jerk off to some porn after that. Can’t let you have all the fun tonight.” The tight groan he pulled from Jackson was pure satisfaction.

       “You think about anyone else while that hand is on my dick and I'll cut a hoe **.** Later.” He hung up on him, leaving Stiles too hot and bothered for Pre-Calculus. He’ll just do porn then math. Sounded like a plan.

* * *

 

        The pre-Semifinals locker room was a war-zone. With the game breathing down their necks, three-fourths of the team stalked around on edge. Coach sat in his office, yelling at anyone stupid enough to walk past. Jackson sneered at the poor ninth graders during his ‘ _fuck up and you die_ ’ pep talk. Compared to his usual apathetic routine, he had them nearly pissing themselves. Even the _‘cool and totally mature’_ senior players argued over who called first shower after the game.

       Stiles stayed away from it all. To avoid triggering his own aggravation, he sat silently next to Scott and Isaac. They seemed to understand he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He did listen, however.

        “Allison said Derek’s sitting with them. Weird, right?” Scott asked, toggling his gaze between him and Isaac. Stiles grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

        “He probably wants to see his _whittle_ _brother_ play.” Isaac teased, trying to provoke him into speaking. Ever since he came back to school this morning, the group created a bet on who could force him to speak first. Now that they've turned his silence into a game, Stiles was purposefully staying silent. Tossing him a devious smirk, Stiles flipped him off. Isaac chuckled, shaking his head.

        “It’s true. Now that you're together again, you’re totally his favorite.” Scott slapped him on the back. Stiles doubted that. He almost opened his mouth to disagree, when Jackson saved him. Or, his speech saved him. Stiles, with the rest of the team, trained their eyes to the center of the room. He stood before them, slightly less pissy than he was with the fresh meat.

        “Coach is having a meltdown in his office, so I thought we’d move this along. Kick ass and be smart. We’re better than these Rollins Prep Douchebags. We’ll beat them just like we did last year and every year before that!” He declared, rallying their team together. In response to his **short** speech, a boisterous “YEAH!” whipped through the air. Stiles clapped while the others cheered, hollered, and stomped. All the tension originally directed at each other focused on one common enemy: Rollins Preparatory Academy.

        “Cyclones on three!” Brandon, one of the three seniors, and their resident hype man, demanded in his eerily deep voice. Stiles thought the whole thing was cheesy. Because he lived for cheesy, his voice always roared the loudest. Today, he forced himself to stay silent. “One, Two, Three!”

        “CYCLONES!” Everyone but Stiles rumbled their mascot. They banged their crosses against the metal lockers as they stood to leave. The moment he saw the devious smirk on Isaac face he cursed.

        “Hold up. Hold up!” Isaac called over the commotion. The noise subsided in waves. “Brandon, I’m not sure everyone is feeling the Cyclones love tonight.” His gaze drifted over to Stiles. Every single player in the room focused on him, disappointment radiating from their bodies.

       “Stilinski. Why you no feel the love?” Brandon smiled at him when strolled closer. Jackson wasn’t far behind. He stood behind Brandon, biting his lips to suppress his laughter. Stiles took a deep breath. There was a way out of this. He couldn’t let Isaac have the satisfaction or the one hundred dollars. Thinking fast, he pulled his phone from his open locker. Opening up notes, he typed a believable excuse. 

_Can’t talk. Recovering from bronchitis. CYCLONES! THEM ROLLINS PREP BITCHES GOING DOWN!_

        He flipped his phone in Brandon’s direction, hopping the boy would appreciate the last portion. When Brandon cracked a smile, pounding him on his back, he sighed in relief. “I knew you had our back, newbie! Come on.” He shoved Stiles toward the door. The chaos returned. He had no choice but to jog alongside Brandon and Jackson outside, leading the team out of the locker room. “Good luck, newbie.” With one final tap, their hype man jogged off to his girlfriend in the bleachers. He waved to his own supporters: Lydia, Allison, Derek, and Erica. Only Erica saw him. Stiles caught her kiss playfully before it blew away in brisk air.

        “You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you?” Jackson snuck up on him. Stiles jumped, swiveling around to see the smile on his face. Since answering him would end negatively for him, he smirked. Jackson already knew the answer to that question. “Ridiculous.” He cackled, shaking his head at Stiles. Suddenly, Jackson’s amusement soured. “Seriously, you’re good right?” All he could do was nod and it nearly killed him. Eyes watched them from every angle. He couldn’t touch or kiss him as he desperately wanted too. “Fine. I’ll leave you to do your mental thing. Kiss ya later.” With a wink, Jackson jogged off to the other midfielders, congregating without him. Stiles almost let his charisma distract him. With only two minutes before the start of the game, he focused on his ‘magical mental thing.’ The pressure was always the heaviest when he was first Face Off. 

        Stiles jogged to the white line marking the Face Off, with his helmet in his hand. He hated putting it on until the last minute. Politely, he nodded to the opposing Midfielder crouching in front of him. The dude scowled back, yet tilted his head as if he recognized him. Stiles ignored his creepy staring by fastening his helmet in place. He vibrated in place, itching to get started. The long treacherous wait killed him. On bad days, his mind wondered. Thankfully, today was a good day. Finally, the ref stopped flirting with a group of moms and paid attention to his job.

        “Don’t screw this up Stilinski!” Coach yelled from the sidelines. Stiles smiled. He didn’t plan on it. He and Creepy Stare shook hands reluctantly, as were the rules. Clutching his stick, Stiles knelt down, matching his opponent’s stance. They both eyed the tiny white ball. He felt the challenge radiating from homeboy’s body. This was going to be fun. Silence claimed the air as they anticipated the whistle. The second he heard the sound, he was off, cradling the ball in his Crosse. He chuckled at the kid’s guttural growl. _You have to play to win._ Stiles chuckled. As they practiced, he flicked the ball to Scott and SCORE! Their crowd went wild. He, Scott, and some of the others formed a mini mosh pit of celebration.

        Either Beacon Hills was amazing or Rollins Prep sucked because at halftime they led, twelve to zero. Stiles thought they might as well walk away now. During their ten-minute halftime, Coach was so elated he dismissed their huddle after a simple ‘ _keeping kicking ass.”_ With nothing to do, he sat with Erica, Lydia, Allison, and Derek in the stands. The girls showered him with praise while Derek reluctantly congratulated him. Derek’s favorite, his ass. Stiles beamed at them before resting his head against Erica’s knees. Immediately, her soft fingers slid through his hair soothingly. They should spend halftime like this every game.

        “Three minutes left.” Lydia informed them, interrupting his happy time with her authoritative tone. Back to work, Stiles sighed. Thankfully, he was free of Face-Off duty. That job fell to Jackson’s shoulders now. Before he headed back to the field, Stiles jogged to the water cooler near the locker room. Several of the guys patted him on the back as he grabbed a cup. He was feeling damn good until Number 29, his Face-Off opponent, rolled up with two others flanking his side. He noted the animosity sparkling in their eyes. He really wished he wasn’t partaking in this silent game. Tormenting these boys sounded like fun. Seth, a belligerent sophomore, known for starting (and winning) fights stepped toward them. Stiles groaned. Things were about to get ugly so he tossed his cup in the trash, leaving them to their cocky sophomore business.

        “Aww. Did you come for tips?" The other guys chuckled. "Tip: the ball goes _into_ the goal.” He heard Seth joke as he fled the scene.

        “Hey.” An unfamiliar voice called out to him. One of the idiots followed him. He grimaced but he pause to let the guy catch up. Maybe he wanted to praise Stiles’s amazing skills. Once he realized it was his pissy Face Off opponent, his idea blew away in the wind. “I figured out why you look so familiar.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, inviting him to continue. Number 29 pointed to Jackson, who stood joking with Danny and Boyd over by the goal. As if he felt their eyes, Jackson peered over at them. With a nod, Stiles told him he could handle it. Jackson nodded back, returning to his conversation. “You and Whittemore were the fags from the music festival.” Stiles tensed; his fist clenched at his side very slowly. “You know, you never did answer our question. Who’s the top? I bet its Whittemore. I can see him begging for it. Am I right?” Without thought, he swung his fist. Here he was judging Seth and he just punched a guy. God, did it feel exhilarating. Stiles chuckled at the pathetic sight of him buckling to the ground. Hearing his laughter, number 29 rammed his head into Stiles’s stomach. He gave a breathy ‘oomph,’ as they fell to the ground. They threw punches wherever they could hit. Number 29 clipped his jaw after Stiles no doubt bruised his abs. Each time he socked him, his chest felt lighter. Eventually, his resistance was more about letting go of his repressed anger and less about Number 29’s comment.

        Once he realized they accumulated an audience, it was too late. “STILINSKI!” Coach bellowed, yanking him up from his jersey. He dragged him over to the bench and threw him down. Stiles winced when the cold metal touched a forming bruise on his back. “What THE HELL was thattttt?” He pushed himself in Stiles’s face, vibrating wildly. “Answer me!” He had no choice. Stiles opened his mouth.

         “Sorry Coach.” The words came out distorted and rough.  

        “Sorry? Sorry! I should bench your ass right now.” He paced in front of him, his neck whipping as he scolded him. “You should be glad the ref thinks with his dick or he’d suspend you. Hell, wipe that blood off your face before I suspend you! I want you ready to go out there like yesterday! You bring me a shutout and we’ll forget this little spat ever happened.” He tossed him one final glance. “You disgust me.” Coach stomped away from him, practically pulling out his hair. The second he was gone, literally everyone crowded him. Everyone minus Jackson.

        “Jesus Christ, Stiles!” On his left, Scott poked his reddening cheek. Stiles smiled at him, licking the blood from his mouth. “Are you insane?”

        “Where’s the other guy?” Isaac asked. Stiles pointed to him across the field. His coach, a short balding man, was in the middle of reaming him out. "Damn. I'm not even mad I lost the bet. Stilinski throws down."

       “My first day back. I got a phone number and a fight. Sweet.” Erica cooed, soothing his hair down. “Derek forced us to let you humans handle your business. Otherwise, I totally would have kicked ass. Werewolves and aggression. Not a good thing though.” She whispered. Stiles shrugged with a ‘what can you do.’ 

       “Where’s Jackson?” Not that he didn’t care about any of them. Everyone besides Danny and Erica walked away at his question. Even Scott abandoned him. Now, he was starting to worry. He turned his pout on Erica and Danny, hoping one of them would cave.

        “Derek had to uh…control him.” Danny informed him. _Shit,_ Stiles cursed under his breath. He didn’t think about how his impulsive decision might affect him. He made a move to get up; together they pushed him back down.

        “Oh no, you don't. You focus on how you’re going to play this game. He’ll be back in time.” Erica pacified him. “Does it hurt?” Stiles rewarded her with a ‘bitch, of course it hurts’ grimace. He’s only been in two other fights before and those were group bawls. He mostly just stayed to the back, pushing anyone who advanced on him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to help your dumb ass. Gimme your hand.” She grabbed him before he had the chance. “Danny shield me.” What in the freaky shit were they trying to- oh my god. Stiles moaned. The pain throbbing through his body evaporated. He opened his eyes, gaping at the veined black lines crawling up Erica’s arm. Her eyes flashed a vivid luminous gold before she yanked away. “That should do it.”

         “What-“A sharp whistle cut him off. Speechless, Stiles walked effortlessly to his spot on the field. If Erica hadn’t suctioned his pain away, he’d limp his way there. His body moved as if the fight never happened. Thank god for werewolves. The referee waited impatiently for their captain. The tension bled from his shoulders the second Jackson made an appearance. He pinpointed Stiles amongst the other players immediately. Jackson’s worried frown raked over his body. For once, Stiles was glad he had the foresight to wear his helmet. He can only imagine the shiner on his face.

         Stiles broke the stare first. He needed to focus on Coach’s wishes, a shutout. Stiles wasn’t a defense-man but he could damn well try to stop Rollins Prep from making one goal. He put his all into the last two quarters. Throwing harder, running faster, and dodging body checks.

        Ten seconds left in the game and the score was 19:0. He had this. At two seconds, Jackson tossed him the ball. He was the only one with enough window to shoot. He shut out the shouts and screams until it was a dull hum in his ears. Stiles flicked his wrist, slugging it rapidly toward the bottom right corner of the goal. He closed his eyes, praying the thing went in. A harmonious roar ripped across the stadium as the buzzer sounded. He did it! They were moving on to the state championships! They got a shut out! His teammates crowded around him. From behind, Jackson hoisted him in the air. Stiles clutched onto him. From his higher viewpoint, he waved at Number 29. He and his other loser teammates watched them celebrate with scowls plastered on their faces. Their coach shouted at them while they collected their equipment.

        “STILINSKI!” Oh no. He froze, watching the crowd part so that coach could approach him. Jackson set him down abruptly, gulping at Coach’s wide-eyed look. They waited an eternity in silence for Coach to speak. When a smile cracked over his face, the cheering started up again. “Excellent.” He pounded on Stiles back with his clipboard. Stiles suspected he wanted it to hurt. He succeeded. “Pull that stunt again and I’ll have you running suicides until you graduate.” He muttered in his ear before pulling back. “Pizza at Oz’s. My treat.” At that, the team raced to the locker room, leaving him and Jackson alone on the field. Stiles promised their friends they’d meet them there.

        “You little shit starter.” Jackson punched him square on the shoulder. Stiles hissed. Yep, the pain was back. Jackson supported them, as they trudged across the field. “I almost killed somebody when he took you down.”

       “I heard. Sorry about that.” He walked through the open locker room door, headed straight for his locker. Jackson followed him, even though their lockers were on the opposite sides of the room. He parked himself on the closest bench while Stiles gathered his stuff.

        “Ehh. Better you than me.” Jackson admitted, kicking his cleats against the metal. “I heard what he said.” He paused. “Who took away your pain? He got some good licks in.” Stiles guessed they planned to smooth over Number 29’s comments. It wasn’t as if he wanted to have that conversation. The farthest they’ve gone is heavy petting.

        “Erica. It’s starting to wear off though. I’m skipping pizza in favor of a nice cold shower and an entire tube of Icy-Hot.” He hoisted his bag onto his good shoulder. When Jackson snatched it away, he barely complained.

       “Come on, Street Fighter. My stuff’s already in the car. I’ll shower at your place.” Like he was going to complain about that. Despite their sweat bodies, Jackson guided him while he limped. At the door, Stiles called his goodbye to everyone. Even dudes he rarely talked to yelled back, telling him to ice his muscles. “Have I told you how much of an idiot you are today?” He asked in the parking lot. Stiles threw his head back in a cackle.

        “Only like a million times but I’m your idiot.” The pain was starting to throb, clearly malfunctioning his filter. They never discussed PDA but he figured a dark parking lot with few cars seemed safe. Stiles gave into his desire to lick the tiny bead of sweat running down the crease of his neck. Stiles admitted to himself. He was obsessed with his neck.

       “Stiles.” Jackson protested under a moan. “You can at least wait to we get to the car.” Stiles chuckled; the car was too far. He tilted his head back to kiss his protest away. Damning everyone to hell, they clutched onto one another, making out in the middle of the parking lot. Jackson’s hand settled on the small of his back underneath his shirt. That same euphoric feeling from earlier returned. The warm fuzziness from his pain seeping away mixed with the heat of their kiss proved to work better than any tube of Icy Hot. Stiles groaned. He pressed further against him until nothing separated them. All it took to douse the mood was the tiniest of gasps. They both yanked away at the same time. Jackson tensed beside him, pulling away from him completely. With his free hand, he shifted his bag in front of his boner. Looking in the direction of Jackson’s gaze, he noted a man and a women gaping at him.

        “Shit." He cursed under his breath. "Mom. Dad. Uhh...Welcome home?”

        Shit. This was not good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this like four times. I'm (somewhat) satisfied with the finishing product. lol  
> Thanks for reading! (I know I must sounded like a broken recorded)


	9. Aftermath: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cricket. One minute passed. Cricket. Two minutes passed. Cricket. Five minutes passed. The suspense of their unspoken judgement was tearing him up inside.

        Cricket. One minute passed. Cricket. Two minutes passed. Cricket. Five minutes passed. The suspense of their unspoken judgement was tearing him up inside. They faced each other silently, Stiles in front of Mr. Whittemore and Jackson in front of his mom. He’d given up hope when Mr. Whittemore’s mouth drifted open. Stiles flinched, preparing for the brunt of his words. Nothing. He shut it again. At this point, Stiles was ready to sacrifice himself in an attempt to speed this along. Luckily, an angel in the form of Lydia rescued them.

         “Mrs. Whittemore?!” Lydia clacked against the pavement as she rushed to Jackson’s mom. Could this get any worse? He threw his head back in anguish the second their shocked and angry gaze drifted from him. With the sliver of privacy, Jackson ribbed him in the side. Stiles jabbed back, turning towards him.

         “ _Holy shit. What do we do?”_ He whispered under his breath.

 _“Don’t look at me!”_ Jackson mouthed. Stiles decided it was smarter to mouth back.

_“They’re your parents!”_

_“Barely. They give me money and a place to live!”_

_“Still! Help me. I’m drowning over here!”_

_“AND I’M NOT?!?!”_ His eyes flashed blue, alerting Stiles that things were spiraling out of control.

 _“OK. OK. Let me think.”_ Stiles mollified him, holding his hands out in surrender. They couldn’t handle a wolfed out teenager on top of this crapfest. He glanced over to confirm Lydia still held their attention. Lydia was amazing. She had Jackson’s stuffy parents hanging onto her every word. Focus Stiles, his brain roared. Stiles thought of a plan. Unfortunately, he only saw one way to play and it didn’t make him happy. _“I can keep my distance while they’re here?”_

 _“That’s a shit plan, Stilinski. Try again.”_ At a time this stressful, Stiles tried not to read much into his comment. He busied himself with more brainstorming. Hearing Lydia say his name shattered his concentration.

        “I’m so happy you’re here. You must come to brunch tomorrow. Stiles and I have been planning it forever.” Brunch? They have? What game was she playing? Stiles tried to catch her attention only for her to ignore him.

         “Stiles?” His mom asked Lydia in confusion. He froze. With his name attached to anything, the Whittemores would surely skip it.

        “Did Jackson not introduce you to Stiles? I swear that boy sometimes.” The Whittemores chuckled politely. “Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore, meet Stiles Stilinski. My only competition for valedictorian.” She gestured to him with one hand; they swiveled back to gawk at him. Their assessing glower made him feel like that one undesired item at an auction. Stiles forced a smile on his face anyway. “His father is our new acting sheriff. He’s doing an amazing job too. Crime has decreased 62% since they moved here.”

        Suddenly, Mr. Whittemore was all plastic charm and smiles. He could give a mean girl a run for her money. “That’s an impressive feat. Will he be attending this _brunch_ of yours? I’d love to hear about his efforts.” He beamed at Stiles, changing the game entirely. They were supposed to ignore Stiles not engage in him directly. His mouth gaped open and closed as his throat blocked an appropiate answer.  A tiny stoic sigh spilled out of   Jackson's mouth.

        “Mr. Whittemore is Lieutenant Governor for California.” Lydia helpfully supplied when he didn’t answer for a length of time. Just like that, his entire world fell from under him. LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR!?! You can’t just toss vital information like that in casual conversation. That’s something you mention before now. _Hey, so my dad’s one of the most powerful men in the California legislature so try not to piss him off._  

        “Yes sir.” He pulled himself together quickly, now that Mr. Whittemore wasn't your typical wealthy father. Underneath his own plastic smile, chaos took over his body. His little cells were pannicking and screaming ‘Abort! Abort!’ Stiles ignored his fight or flight instinct. “He will be there.” He said cordially. And his father would. Right after Stiles promised him a week’s worth of real bacon for breakfast.

        “Excellent. I look forward to it.” Stiles much preferred his glaring than his fake politician smile. The 60 watts of pearly whites and evil glares dug into his soul. Feeling violated, Stiles folded his arms across his chest. Mr. Whittemore caught the gesture. He smirked victoriously at Stiles before ignoring him altogether. “Well, son. We’re sorry we missed your game. There was traffic in the city. You boys win?”

        “Yes. Stiles scored the last goal.”  They, including Lydia, were nonplused at Jackson's admittance. Although his words were firm and direct, he jittered under his dad’s attention.

        “I’m sure he did.” His gaze turned icy-cold for a split second. “We thought we’d celebrate at Rubinox. Your mother made a reservation for three.” Stiles understood his message perfectly. Mr. Whittemore annexed their amazing plans while conveying to Stiles that the new plan didn’t involve him. All while smiling politely. The man was nefarious. Stiles exhaled, accepting his loss.  He can’t compete with a restaurant where one entrée cost more than his entire monthly spending.

        “That sounds great.” Jackson obliged his father while Stiles had his mini sulking session. “I’m just going to make sure Stiles gets home. He was banged up a bit on the field.” That, Stiles did not expect. His head perked up; a smile stretched across his face. His parents eyed them with surprise. His mom almost seemed proud. She shared a private smile with Jackson before turning back into her husband. "I’ll follow you to the restaurant?”

        “Sure.” His father gritted. “We'll wait for you outside. The reservation is set for eight.” Stiles spared a glance at his phone. The time was now 7:45. Wow. His efforts were starting to impress Stiles instead of aggravate/ terrify him. Stiles only hoped he was this devious when his own children started brining around bruised juvenile delinquents .

        “I’ll be there. I’m only trailing his car.” He was doing a stellar job of aggravating Jackson though. Stiles and Lydia observed them uncomfortably while Jackson and his father shared a nonverbal argument. Stiles suspected it was their first of many. Eventually, Mr.Whittemore relented.

        “Ok then." He agreed, giving up on the fight. He and Jackson stood side by side awkwardly as Mr. Whittemore folded Lydia in a fatherly emrace. " Lydia, it was great seeing you. We’ll have Jackson give us the details of your brunch over dinner.”

        “Excellent. Stiles and I are thrilled that you are coming.” She hugged Mrs. Whittemore next. Funny how an outsider might perceive Lydia as being the Whittemores’ daughter. Not once in this ceremony of hugs did they embrace Jackson. His conversation with Danny made much more sense now. He huffed an angry breath. Ignore him? Fine. Ignore their son? Hell no.

        “Good night, Mr. Stilinski.” Both Whittemores bit in unison over their shoulder while they headed in the direction they came. Stiles let their disapproving glare wash over him as they slid into a Mercedes Benz. In all honestly, the more time he spent in their presence, he grew angry rather than pettrified. Before they left, Stiles made it his personal mission to show them the error of their ways. First step involved gaining their respect. He took a page from Lydia's book and waved respectfully when they zoomed passed.   They waited for them to turn from the lot before chaos rained down on them.

        "Fucking Christ!!!!!!!!" Stiles bellowed into the silent night sky, startling Lydia and Jackson. He immeditately slumped back against jackson, letting him hold his weight again. "Did you know they were coming?" 

         "If I knew they were coming would I willingly make out with you in an open parking lot?" He had a solid point. Lydia interrupted his response.

        “Boys. Focus.” She snapped her manicured fingers in their faces rudely. Because she saved their asses, he rewarded her with his undivided attention. “First, you’re welcome. That was for my Latte this morning.” He expected her to bark orders. The almost playful expression was so much better than anything he imagined. A goofy, maudlin smile slid slowly across his face.

        “Come here you.” Stiles attacked her with a hug in all his dried sweat and soiled uniform glory. Her constant wiggling and screams muffled in his jersey. “Aww, I love you too, Lyds!” He laughed against her soft hair. For a moment, their problems didn’t seem so large. It was them, an empty parking lot, and a whole lot of laughter. Stiles wrestled with her until she surrendered. Sliding her arms snugly against Stiles’s waist, Lydia sobered from her giggling. “I told you the Latte was a good idea. Look at that smile.”

        In amusement, Jackson tsked at their nonsense. “Have you been hiding in Allison’s car this entire time?” Jackson asked, nodding to the gray Mercury parked idle in the fire lane. Both Allison and Erica shot nervous smiles their way.

        “If you’re asking if we saw your little porno, then yes. Erica hoped you two would share some post-battle, life-altering kiss. Turns out she was right.” Lydia shrugged her shoulders as if their spying was a normal, everyday life activity

        “That’s really creepy, little red.” He pumped her shoulders twice, ignoring the miniature death glare.

        “You put it out there. She was just enjoying the show.” Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of Stiles’s clasp. “Say your goodbyes. We have a lot of work to do.” He blinked in confusion. “A brunch to plan, idiot. I’ll call Derek make sure we can use his house. Mrs. Whittemore loves beautiful homes.” She flounced away, flicking her hair over her shoulders. They stared at each other as she went. Stiles racked his brain for what to do. This experience has ruined him from possibly ever kissing Jackson in public again. “Hurry up! We just watched you hump like animals.” Her tiny head popped out of his passenger window. "We don't care about one little kiss." Stiles snorted.

        “Is it sad that I’m more scared of her than of your parents?” He asked, turning towards Jackson in the parking lot. With their newly discovered audience, Stiles felt uncomfortable under the spotlight. He didn’t want their relationship to become some girls’ fantasy. “Come on.” Stiles flicked his head in the direction of the Porsche. Jackson received his message easily enough. Side by side, they made the slow trek to his car. The only other vehicle in the lot besides their three cars waited conveniently next to the Porsche. With the car so small, the large Ford truck shielded their bodies from any wandering eyes. They stood in the sliver of space between the two cars, Jackson leaning against the driver’s door and Stiles in front of him. Shielded like this, he had a crazy urge to take what he wanted. Stiles wanted to mark him up, if he even could do that, so that his parents understood Jackson belonged with him. Despite his desires, he resisted. Not only was he still enduring the repercussions of their last public kiss, he didn’t want to push Jackson prematurely. He’d say his goodnight and let Lydia boss him around for the next few hours.

        “I should let you-” All words were lost when Jackson yanked him down by his jersey. He met Stiles in the middle, arching off the car to seal their lips together. Stiles released a near pornographic moan as he took everything Jackson gave him. Unlike the others, this one was a bruising, a seductive fight. Around the same time he ran out of air, Jackson’s breathing picked up. In wolf-land, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. When Jackson nicked his bottom lip with what felt like his incisors, Stiles decided it was an extremely good thing. Seriously, Jackson losing control and partially wolfing out shouldn’t be so hot to him.

        A protruding honk from his Jeep doused cold water on their perfect little moment. Stiles jerked back into his own space with a dazed expression on his face. He can only imagine how red and blotchy his skins looked right now, on top of his bruises.

        “Why are you looking at me like that?” Jackson asked him, his tone gruff. Stiles couldn’t snap out of it. His felt as if his entire world shifted on its axis. “Stop.” Jackson knocked his fist lightly into his left pectoral muscle. “You act like we haven’t done that before.” That snapped him out of his trance.

        “Maybe cause we haven't. Where the hell have you been hiding that action?! You attacked my face!” He gestured wildly with his hands. Jackson smirked at him, obviously proud of himself.

        “I didn’t know when I’d get the chance to do it again.” He shrugged, not understanding how uncharacteristically sweet his words were. Stiles’s insides curled into a love ball. He hid his sentimentality behind a gentle smile. “I’m late.” Jackson spoke what they both already knew.

        “Yeah. You are. Your dad hates me.”

         “Naw. He hates me.” And, he firmly believed that judging by his serious tone. Stiles frowned. He shouldn’t have brought them up. “-I’m serious. The only thing he liked about me was Lydia. She’s a ‘respectable girl with a bright future.’ Well, now that I don’t want her, he barely wants me.”

        “That’s sad.”

        “Yeah, well welcome to the family.” He desperately wanted to wipe that tragic mope off his face. He said the first wise crack that popped into his head.

        “Aww, is this your way of asking me to go steady?” His goal was to injected comedy into the depressing situation. He wasn’t serious about the question until Jackson responded with a serious answer.

        “If that’s what you want.” He responded honestly.

        “Wait, what? I was joking.”

        “Your heart blipped. You might have thought you were joking but you weren’t.” The heart thing aside, Jackson was right. On some conscious level, Stiles thought about the possibility.

        “I’ve never been in a relationship before.” He said, since they landed in Honesty-Ville. “You might have to show me the ropes.” Jackson scoffed at his admission.

        “Believe me when I say, I’m no better off than you are.” Somehow, Stiles didn’t believe that to be true. However rocky his relationship with Lydia was, they used ‘true love’ to save him from evil or whatever in the end.

         “I doubt that.” He chuckled. “So boyfriends?” Stiles asked, cringing. He hated how weird it sounded coming out of his mouth. He’d have to practice saying it in the mirror to avoid cringing in the future.

        “Boyfriends.” Jackson repeated with the semblance of a warm smile. “Unless, you want to do the long distance thing, I better go. He’ll hold boarding school over my head if I make them miss dinner.” Stiles smiled, reaching around him to open the door handle. When he pulled back, Stiles trailed his hand over his hipbone. “I’ll see you tomorrow and wear something conservative.” He added as he lowered down into his luxurious car. Stiles planned on it. Like a taxi in the city, Stiles lightly rapped on the hood twice. Through the tinted window, Jackson gestured for him to start walking to the jeep. Instead of heading towards Erica car, he walked around the back of the parked truck. Lydia, with her phone pressed against her ear, didn’t notice him approaching.

         “What’s happening now?” She demanded. “What do you mean you can’t hear them?” Of course, they gossiped about them. Stiles rolled his eyes fondly. He was riding the high of his recently changed relationship status. She tried (and failed) to act normal when Stiles opened the driver’s door. He tossed his bag over the seat, watching it land with a _kurplunk._  Stiles laughed, grabbing her phone from her palm. He put the thing on speaker, ignoring her huffy protests.

        “Now that we are done with the telenovela that is my life. Shall we talk brunch plans?”

        “Yes!” Lydia contributed, happy that Stiles was letting her off the hook.

        “Hi Stiles!” Allison greeted him with suppressed enthusiasm. “So, Derek said yes to use his place. He, Isaac, and Scott are cleaning now. Peter’s not invited. Ms. McCall gets off at seven in the morning so, we’re going to give her some rest and have the brunch at noon. Your dad accepted our invitation. He said he‘d arrive with you in the morning and help whichever way he can. Both Erica and Boyd’s parents can’t change their work schedule. Lydia’s mom in bringing a pound cake and some wine. Danny’s mom and sister are coming. His dad has to work and who knows if my dad will show up. My guess is no, though. All we have to do is shop and cook for twenty people. And, Isaac’s your size so we’re borrowing some of his clothes.”

        “We devised a menu based on common food allergies. We figured buffet style would be easiest. Half-traditional breakfast. Half-lighter lunch. Hors d’oeuvres. Salad. Salmon. That kind of thing. No cookout foods.” Lydia read off a more detailed list from her phone. Stiles tried to catch a better glimpse but she smacked him. Fine, he yielded. They could take the ropes on this one. He’ll help with the cooking when the time comes. “You accomplished all of this within minutes?” He quirked an eyebrow. “While gossiping about my love life?”

         “Well, not everyone has the luxury of dry humping their boyfriend in a darkened school parking lot.” Erica’s devious lilt filtered through the phone. A thick rosy flush washed over his skin. “Also, we’re amazing.”

         “Ditto on what Erica said.” Allison commented. He heard the pleasant smile in her face. “Congratulations by the way! We’ll be the first one to like your relationship status on Facebook.” He totally spaced about Facebook.

        “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.” He told her as his phone chimed with a Facebook notification. He searched for it only to find it in Lydia's hands. She tossed him a 'You have mine. I have yours' smirk.

        “Jackson Whittemore accepted your relationship request.” Lydia read from the blue and white Facebook mobile app. “Thousands of people across California know about you two. Don’t be afraid of some old friends and a few boring relatives.” She tossed Stiles’s phone back into his lap. How did she get it in the first place? Stiles was far too baffled to produce words. His phone lit up with one more notification.

        “Erica!” Stiles barked her name. She had the guts to upload their music festival pictures, making sure to tag both of them in each one. Allison was the first person to like both the status and the pictures. His friends, Stiles shook his head unbelievably.

        “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” He sighed, turning his key in the ignition. “After we shop, we’re cooking at my house because I stink.” The stench was starting to bother him.

        “I wasn’t going to say anything but-” He gurgled a laugh when Lydia turned up her nose. “As long as we stop by our houses, I’m cool with a sleepover.”

        “SLEEPOVER!!” Erica and Allison’s conjoined voices screamed over the phone. Stiles laughed. As long as they all stick together, they might actually survive this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to chop the wait, post one today and finish the second part for Tuesday. Does that work? Hopefully!  
> Thanks for reading ;) Love you guys and your comments and kudos! ;) Now I shall sleep.


	10. Aftermath: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brunch. They could totally do this.

        Halfway through shopping, they decided to move the party to Derek’s house. With two kitchens and an outside kitchenette, everyone could accomplish three times the cooking.  Three hours were spent buying food, stopping at each house, driving to Derek's, and unloading the cars. A majority of that time involved "picking outfits." Apparently, Lydia set a dress code of Dressy Casual. After he showered at his house, Stiles waited in the car.

         By the time actual preparation started, it was eleven. Using a system Lydia devised, they worked in pairs. Stiles and Lydia took command over the kitchen, making the more complicated dishes. In the basement kitchen, they pleaded for Derek's help in baking with Erica. Finally, Boyd and Allison grilled anything remotely grill-able. Neither Scott nor Isaac had much cooking skill so, Lydia gave them easier jobs. Isaac and his nimble fingers worked swiftly as the house's food prep. He grouped the necessary ingredients for each recipe and crafted the colder dishes, such as the fruit salad. Stiles thought Scott had the best job, cleaning and taste testing. That's it.

         With Erica's iPod blaring over the house's speaker system, Stiles jammed as he cooked. Around three, his body started rebelling. Between the cooking, lacrosse, and fighting, he began making sloppy mistakes. Lydia ostracized him from the kitchen when she found an egg shell in the Egg Frittata. Allison became Lydia's partner in his absence. No one else would accept him. Not even Boyd who was now a one man band. Lonely, Stiles dragged his feet to his favorite room. Settling on the vintage chaise in the sunroom, he was sleep within minutes.

          He woke to soft fingers stroking his hair. Stiles groaned, snapping at Erica to go away.  

         “Erica? You cheating already? Disappointing.” His eyes snapped open upon hearing Jackson's hushed tone. He beamed up at him, not entirely positive this wasn't a dream.

         “Hey.” His voice cracked as he stretched his muscles. “Sorry. Erica usually does that. What are you doing here?” Stiles thought he was coming with his parents later. 

        “Oh. Was I not invited?” Jackson teased back, sending Stiles a playful grin. "I got dressed up and everything.” He motioned a hand over his clothes. Stiles used that as his cue to track his body. He took in his smooth gray wool sport coat, chambray button down, simple khakis held up by a thick brown belt. No tie. Admittedly, he looked good. Extremely good but, Stiles predicted he’d go bigger. “What? You don’t like what I’m wearing?” He pressed a hand to his chest in false astonishment. “That's a first.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

         “Stop feeling yourself.” He cackled, sitting up against the back of the chair. "I expected Mr. GQ to bust out the three piece suits. You let me down.”

         “I’ll be sure to break out the Burberry next time we go out.” Stiles looked forward to it. “Lydia’s calling for you. Something about you promising to make the glaze.”

         “She kicked me out." Channeling his inner child, Stiles pouted, folding arms across his chest. "What time is it?” He clasp Jackson’s bulky wrist watch. 8:21am.

       “Oh my god!” Stiles sprang into action, leaping off the long lounge chair. His body moved fluidly, only with a minor aches. Before he escaped, Jackson yanked him back against his chest. He groaned, torn between wanting to play this game and fretting over the brunch. “Come on. I don’t have time for this.” He fought for the door. Jackson laughed at his weakened human strength. Stiles pouted.

        “You should always have time for this.” He kissed down Stiles’s neck. “The only reason we’re having this thing is so you can have time for this.” He did raise a valid point. Stiles swiveled to kiss him properly, morning breath and all.

         “STILES! Don’t make me take him away!” Lydia shrieked from the kitchen. He threw his head back in anguish. So unfair. 

         “You are a horrible influence on my life.” He flicked Jackson’s forehead. “How’s my face?” He changed the subject before they descended into another battle of wit. He felt normal with a smudge of tenderness in his jaw. He wanted them gone before his dad arrived. Of course, his life wasn't that simple. He watched Jackson observe his face, turning it each way.

        “It could be better." He gave him the verdict. Stiles sighed. "Purplish here.” He trailed his index finger under Stiles’s right eye. His eyes drifted shut at the feather light touch. “Darker purple on your right cheek and along your jaw. It hurts still?” The hand slowly drifted down to his cheek. Jackson's palm moved with his head as he shook no.  

         “Make sure I never fight again.” He cried, letting his head fall against Jackson's shoulder. “My face is too pretty to be this damaged." 

        Jackson cackled as if he thought Stiles was joking. “I'll try my best. You shouldn't keep the Queen waiting.” He nodded at the door. Stiles scoffed; they were going to kill each other over this brunch. He refused to go alone. Taking hold of Jackson's hand, he dragged him through the house. 

         “You staying?” He asked in the living room, one room away from the kitchen. The hustle and noise coming from the kitchen hid their voices. Jackson nodded.

        “For a while. Then, Danny and I have to go and pick up everyone. McCall was bragging about your all-nighter on Facebook. Figured, we'd check it out.” Stiles grinned; they felt left out. Adorable. 

         “I'll make sure you get the easier jobs then." He dragged them the rest of the way into the kitchen. Wow. Food everywhere. Allison, Lydia, Scott, and Isaac hustled around each other, frantically carrying out their tasks. Scott passed them with a piping hot platter of French Toast. With a goofy smile, he winked at their conjoined hands as he passed. Stiles snorted, alerting Lydia of his arrival.

         "Oh you're here. Great!" She clapped her hands together. "You, downstairs with Erica, Derek, and Boyd. They have the cinnamon rolls." She snapped at Stiles. Accepting his fate, he clutched tighter to Jackson and pulled him away. "Oh no! You're helping Danny dress the table. Outside."  She pointed to Jackson. 

         "Can't Danny do it himself!?!" Stiles begged. She tossed them a firm 'Don't make me say it again' scowl. Stiles submitted. Lydia was a million times more terrifying than the Whittemores. "Fine. Find me before you leave." He pumped Jackson's hand and scampered down the stairs. 

* * *

        Stiles thought their seven am rush was bad. At 11 o’clock, the house erupted into chaos. With the girls upstairs primping, the leadership role fell to him. _“Stiles, where do you want this?” “Stiles, I can’t find the ice!” “Stiles, one of the burners won’t turn on!” **Stiles. Stiles. Stiles!**_ He nearly exploded. They had too much work and far too little bodies to accomplish it. With Jackson and Danny gone, only five of them carried on. Thankfully, his dad and Ms. McCall showed up not ten minutes later.

        “Dad!” He squeezed the life out of them both.

        “What in the world happened to your face?” His dad cradled his head in his palms. Stiles rambled off some fabricated story about a team scuffle. He bought it. Ms. McCall took one glance at his frazzled state and took over. She grabbed the list out of his hand and shooed him away. Stiles, the only one running on three hours of sleep, devoted his time elsewhere. He checked out the dining table outside. Danny and Jackson did an amazing job with decorating. A simple white tablecloth covered the once dull picnic table. Stiles scanned the length of the long table, admiring the detail. Each place setting had one white decorative plate, a desert plate, and a bowl stacked in front of a black metal chair. Silverware, a beverage glass, and a champagne flute sat at each place setting. A bottle of Champagne, really sparkling grape juice, lain every four seats. For decoration, they alternated jars of flowers from Derek’s garden, pumpkins, and candles. He didn't even want to know where they found five perfectly round pumpkins. Stiles laughed to himself. It was just like them to go beyond Lydia’s instruction.

        He noticed small hand-written name cards in front of every seat. Seriously!? Name cards, Stiles grunted. However, he understood how they helped the situation. This brunch was useless if the Whittemores chose chairs at the other end of the table. Stiles searched for his name. He started farthest left first. Isaac scored the head of the table. On each side of him was Scott and Danny’s sister, Tessa. He followed Scott’s chain, expecting to be seated next to him. Nope. It went Scott, his mom, Stiles’s dad, _and then_ Stiles. His name card signified the middle of the table. At least, Erica sat on his other side. Stiles found Jackson directly across from him, sitting in between Danny and his father. Mrs. Whittemore’s name card rested on the other side of her husband's. Good.

        “STILES!” They lasted five minutes before calling his name again. With a final glance at the table, Stiles followed Derek’s bellowing. It led him to the front door. “What is this?” He demanded, when Stiles rounded the corner.

        “A door?” Stiles pointed to the propped open door.

        Derek grimaced, done with his sarcastic shit. “No. Idiot. This.” The door swung open, revealing three boys about their age. With the exception of the lanky one in the middle, he’d never seen them before in his life. They stared at them with varying indifferent gaits. “Why are there strange boys on my porch, Stiles?” He asked again, when Stiles didn't answer him in a timely manner.

        “I don’t know them. Well, he’s in my Pre-Calc class. Brenden, right?” The guy leaned around Derek’s bulky frame to wave at him. Stiles grinned back, taking in their matching black slacks and white button down. 

        Lydia chose that moment to grace them with her presence. “There you three are. You’re late.” She scolded. Dumbfounded, Stiles glanced between her and the boys. She casually descended the steps in her ridiculously high heels. Ushering them inside, they slid underneath Derek’s perched arm. Lydia lined them up, appraising their outfits. “Taylor. I told you to iron your pants.”

        The one to the right of Brenden scowled down at his barely wrinkled slacks. “You kidding me, I did. Like twice.” He bit back, as if he and Lydia were close friends.

        “Fine. Must be the fabric.” She moved on to the next one.

        “Umm. Lydia. What is happening?” Stiles asked since Derek lost the ability to speak.

        “I hired them, duh.” She dared him to question her anymore.

        “As what?” 

       “Wait staff. Isn’t it obvious? Taylor was going to be doormen but, now its Gage’s job.” Gage, the final one, sulked. Stiles didn't blame him. “Brenden will refill drinks and Taylor will replenish the food. Don’t worry they’re getting paid.”

        “A lot!” Taylor offered and then snapped at attention when Lydia glared at him. “Otherwise, I would be sleep right now.” He whispered, making the other two laugh.

        “How do you all know each other?” All four of them turned to Stiles with the same ‘you’re stupid’ look. Was he supposed to find answers in their condescending stares?

        “Science Club!” Allison called out as she skipped to the kitchen in her cute pink dress. He should have seen that coming. Of course, Lydia would join Science Club.

        “I’m putting you in charge of this.” Derek cut off his sarcastic joke. “They stay downstairs or they’re gone.” He told Lydia before strutting off.

        “Stiles go get dressed. It’s 11:20. Isaac’s room is all the way to the right.” Dismissed, Stiles left her and her ‘wait staff’ alone. He found Isaac’s room easily enough. It was the one playing Vampire Weekend. Stiles loved everything about it. He was such a Vampire Weekend kind of dude. Isaac, raking through his closet, asked him to close the door behind him. If Stiles wore anything like Isaac’s outfit, the Whittemores would love him. He adorned slim navy blue trousers, a white oxford layered under a cranberry colored sweater, and deep brown formal shoes. In this house, he felt like the ugly duckling.

        “Here. These are a bit short for me. Try em on.” A pair of sandy brown khaki pants slapped against his face. Stiles sputtered, spitting some of the fabric from my mouth. Surprisingly enough, Stiles felt comfortable enough to put them on in front of Isaac. They really did have the same body build. Ogling each other was the equivalent of looking in the mirror. Except Isaac was a couple inches taller. The pants fit well, stopping right below his ankle. “Those look good. You can have them if you want.” Stiles might take him up on his offer. He shuffled though the hangers. Stiles collapsed on his bed, waiting for the next item. “That and That.” A white long sleeve button down and a dark blue blazer landed near his head. Stiles exchanged his shirts, buttoning and tucking it into his pants. Before adding the jacket, Isaac demanded he wear a tie.

        “I can tie my own tie, Isaac.” He took the silky blue fabric in his hands. Still, Isaac watched him to ensure he mastered it.

        “So. What’s up with you and Scotty?” He asked, wanting to diffuse the silence. Isaac’s cheeks tinted pink. “Aww… come on, we’re friends right? You can tell me.” He pleaded. Now, he was curious. Isaac surrendered after Stiles threatened to beg on his knees.

        “We’re friends.” He chuckled, shrugging. Stiles accepted the jacket from him. “Just like me and Scott. We have been for a long time.”

        “Sure,” He drawled out in disbelief. “I said the exact same thing about Jackson. Look how that turned. It’s only a matter of time. Just you watch.” Isaac shook his head, not believing him. Stiles winking, adding the brown suede shoes to his assemble. Standing in front of the mirror, they observed the final product. Isaac deemed him ready once he added a white pocket square. Now, he looked badass. Like a young mob boss. Or a 007. Stiles side-hugged him as Erica stepped into the room.

        “If those stiffs don’t love you, I’ll take you home to my mama and daddy.” Erica clicked her teeth, approving Isaac’s handiwork. Stiles preened under her love. She looked just as stunning in her long gray dress. Only Erica could rock a leather jacket and still be formal. “Come on. I’m going to work magic on those bruises.” They switched custody of him. Isaac joined the others while Erica sat him down on the toilet in the hallway bathroom. Whatever she painted on his face, it felt good. “Tell Jackson to go easy on the vacuuming. You have like four hickeys.”

       “I do not! Where?!” She pointed to each fading hickey with her brush. “Damn.” He exclaimed but there was a smile on his face.

       “Eww, you reek of arousal right now. Worse than Scott and Isaac.” He shrugged, feeling zero remorse. “Have you two even fucked yet?” Stiles chocked on a mixture of air and saliva, causing her to cackle deviously.

        “Jeezus. Do you have to be so crude all the time?” She poked him with the brush until he answered her. “The point is to cover up the bruises. Not make more. We haven’t and before you ask, we're been taking it slow.”

        “That’s because he’s probably afraid he’ll suck. He’s only been with Lydia. Though I do hear great things about his...technique.” Nooo. Huh. Stiles never thought about it before. He knew Lydia was Jackson’s only girlfriend ever. He like having sex with her so much, he stayed for years. _Years!_ Stiles should be the fearful one. He has to measure up to perfect Lydia Martin. The doorbell sounded, putting an end to their conversation.

        Erica showed him his bruised/ hickey free face in the mirror. His moles vanished too. It looked bizarre but he dealt with it. “You ready for this?” Erica patted his cheek once the Whittemore’s voices flittered through the house. Stiles’s heart pounded.

      “About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

       Erica snickered, guiding him down the stairs. Here they go.

          

* * *

        “So Stiles. Tell me about yourself.” Mr. Whittemore asked him, right as he shoved a forkful of delicious French Toast in his mouth. He hated moments like this, where the person watched you chew frantically. Danny, Erica, and Jackson hid their chuckles behind their glasses of water. Stiles shot them discreet glares. He forced the syrupy bread down in chunks.

        After a swallow of water, he answered. “Sure. What would you like to know?” Jackson leaned back out of his dad’s peripheral to smile at him. Mr. Whittemore asked for the basics overprotective dad questions: his interest, his future college plans, and his life goals. He was acting too cordial. Not once in the past thirty minutes has he scowl or judge him. He was planning something; Stiles’s anxiety sensed it. “I’m heavily into books and research. I know that sounds extremely boring but, an interesting read can occupy me sunup to sundown.”

        “He’s not joking.” His dad interjected before returning to his private conversation with Ms. McCall. Stiles bobbed his head fondly at their beyond adorable relationship.

        “I haven’t narrowed my choices down yet but, I love Syracuse University in New York. I attended lacrosse camp there the past five summers.” He hoped he didn't come off as a jock.

        “I’m quite familiar with Syracuse. An old friend of mine is the Academic Dean of Students there.” Of course he is. Stiles rolled his eyes behind his water glass. Looks like he won’t get an acceptance from there.  “What would you major in?”

        “Dad. This is brunch. Not an interview.” Jackson tried diffusing his father’s mini interrogation. Mr. Whittemore waved him off with his fork. Stiles grinned, thanking him for attempting.

        “I’m simply asking the boy questions. I’m sure Sheriff Stilinski did the same of you.” He did, Stiles’s dad smirked at Mr. Whittemore. They shared a tiny dad moment. This is what happens when parents bond.

        “It’s fine.” He chuckled politely. “I want to major in English and then get my masters in Library Science. It’s been my goal for a while.”

        “Librarian, huh?” Cue the judgment, Mr. Whittemore’s now turned up very slightly. That was one. “That’s an  _interesting_ choice. Why a librarian?” He spit the word as if librarians were beneath him.

        “I’ve always been fascinated with libraries.” Stiles responded assertively. “My mom took me every day after-school. And when we moved to the city, I’d visit the NYPL every weekend. My goal is to work there one day." Jackson cocked his head at the acronym. "It's the New York Public Library. The big fancy one you see in all the movies.” A nostalgic smile settled over his face. Mr. Whittemore dropped the subject after he mentioned his mom. He nodded firmly at Stiles and then turned to converse with his wife. Stiles sighed; he survived the first round. Under the table, Jackson stretched his leg over, entangling their feet. His heart rate settled to normal after that.

        “Excuse me; can I have your attention?” Lydia chimed, standing up with a flute in her hand. She stood on the other side of Mrs. Whittemore. “Thank you all for coming today. You have no idea what this means to us.” She took a moment to smile at each of their guests. “I wanted to open the floor up for any toasts. We have a bottle of _Domenico Clerico_ for the adults.” On cue, Lydia’s Brenden passed out flutes of wine. Gage and Taylor filled their glasses with the Sparkling Grape Juice. The smell of fermented grapes was pungent in the air. Stiles twitched his nose tactfully.“I want to start by thanking Derek for allowing us to invade his home. We are grateful for his patience.”

        “Cheers.” They said in unison, saluting their glasses in Derek’s direction. His charming smile blinded them. Stiles sipped from his glass as Lydia took a seat.

        “I guess I’ll go.” His dad stood up. Stiles groaned, the embarrassment affecting him already. “Being the new kid is always tough but, you all have accepted Stiles into your hearts. He has smiled more in the last few months than possibly ever. So cheers to you.” Stiles hugged his dad as everyone drank to that. Since he was caught standing, the table focused on him. Damn. Stiles picked up his glass.

       “Obviously, I have so much I can say. How amazing your friendships are. Reuniting with Derek, my pseudo big bro. My dad.” He locked eyes on Jackson, saying his name telepathically. He shot Stiles back a tiny smile. “But, I’m really grateful for this opportunity as a whole. To fellowship and appreciate those that are different from me.” He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore. “I hope this won’t be the last time we come together.” The couple raised their glasses in his direction. They received his subtle message.

       “That was very beautiful, Stiles.” Mrs. Whittemore complimented him respectfully when he settled down. Stiles thanked her with a warm smile. Mr. Whittemore stared at him oddly through the last two toasts. It was progress. Nothing else mattered. Stiles settled his foot against Jackson’s again, returning to his food

 

* * *

 

       

       Stiles was the only socially inept person at this brunch. Everyone mingled while he sat awkwardly in his new seat next to Jackson. He listened to their fathers debate Californian gun rights. Even Jackson added several insightful opinions. Who knew Jackson was interested in politics too? Certainly not Stiles. The entire conversation hurt his brain. At first, he finger scribed on Jackson’s thigh under the table. That got boring after he wrote the alphabet, numbers through 50, dirty words, and hidden messages.  

       After that, he observed the other groups wistfully. Scott, Isaac, Danny, and his sister played catch with Shiva near the fence. Erica, Boyd, and Derek broke out cards, lounging on the deck. Even the moms, Lydia, and Allison giggled at the end of the long table. A quick idea popped into his head. Leaning over his chair, he whispered in Jackson’s ear, ignoring the pointed look Mr. Whittemore tossed him.

       “Hey. I’ll be right back. I’m going to…uh” He felt awkward saying he wanted to visit Laura aloud. Instead, he nodded to the forest, knowing he’d understand. Jackson nodded.

         “Want me to come with?” He muttered so that their dads couldn’t hear. While he appreciated the offer, Stiles rather he didn’t.

        “Naw. I’ll be fine.” He smiled goodbye, clapping his hand down on Jackson’s shoulder. He left before his dad or Mr. W pulled him back to the conversation. Stiles slipped through the back gate Derek showed him last time.  His muscle memory carried him back to the Hale memorial. Surprisingly, this time he wasn’t overwhelmed with emotion or anger. He felt a new sense of serenity. Stiles grinned; he finally understood the purpose of this hideaway. Comfortably, he began to talk. He told her about moving to California and meeting his friends. He told her about reuniting with Derek and his slightly less than sour wolf attitude. He laughed as he relayed the details of their brunch. He admitted to being skeptical about the whole plan to ‘woo’ Jackson’s parents. He didn’t accomplish his goal but, they stopped glaring at him. Small victories, right? Stiles chuckled. Finally, he saved his juiciest gossip for last. Stiles told Laura about his new boyfriend. Wow, he grinned. It was the first time that description sounded natural, right.

        He sobered upon hearing a crunch of dead leaves in the distance. Stiles pivoted, searching the seemingly empty forest for his visitor. “Hello?” He called out. “Who’s there?” Now he felt the eyes of someone observing him. An eerie sensation crawled over his body. “I know you’re there.” He rolled his eyes, when they shuffled slightly, causing the leaves to rustle. Finally, Mr. Whittemore stepped from behind a broad White Pine tree. Stiles mood soured. Of course, the man followed him. He was probably waiting all day to isolate him. Stiles eyed how bizarre he looked, standing in the middle of the forest wearing his sophisticated suit. The scowl on his face meant he was seconds away from bitchin' about ruining his expensive leather. “Oh, it’s you.” He tampered down on a scowl. The overall goal was to have Mr. W respect him. Stiles raised a calculating eyebrow when the man remained silent. He trekked over to Stiles and seated himself next to him. Stiles watched him unbutton his suit jacket stiffly and shove his hands down his deep pockets. He swore he saw that move in a James Bond movie once. Never one to enjoy silence, Stiles confronted him again. “Did you need something? I’m pretty sure Jackson’s still-” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and towards the backyard.

        “I know where Jackson is.” He articulated succinctly. Stiles groaned; he saw which conversation was heading his way. “I came to have a word with you actually.”

        Nope. They were not having this conversation. Stiles interrupted him before he started. “Mr. Whittemore. I respect that you are uncomfortable with our relationship but, I’m not going to stop seeing him so, if that’s what this is about then-”

        “Who is she?” He interjected in the middle Stiles’s speech. Stiles worked hard to construct that thing. He stared at the side of his scruffy face in apprehension. There was no girl involved in any of their conversations. Cluing him in, Mr. Whittemore nodded at the Hale memorial plaque. “The girl you were talking to? Who was she?” Oh.  He debated on whether to share this part of his life with Jackson’s father. A man who might stop at nothing to get rid of him. In the end, he decided ‘why not?’ At the very least, if he badmouthed Laura, he’d have an excuse to kick his ass. Stiles cleared his throat, squirming on the seat until he felt most comfortable.

        “Her name was Laura, Derek’s sister. She …” How does one describe his relationship to Laura? “…kind of helped raise me after my mom died. Why?” He turned the question back on him, since they did this now. Anger flashed through Mr. Whittemore’s gaze but not directed at Stiles.  It was a far off look, as if his mind began to reminisce about someone he hated. It disappeared instantly, giving way to his Politician smile.

        “No reason.” They were finally making headway and he shut down. Stiles couldn't accept that. He tossed him his most impressive ‘I will cut you’ scowl. Mr. Whittemore buckled under the glower.

        “It just reminded me of myself when my brother passed away.” Mr. W admitted, trailing his eyes on the waterfall to avoid looking at Stiles. Since he finally seemed sincere, Stiles kept his next words free of sarcasm.

        “You talked to him too?” He inquired, suddenly curious about Mr. W’s past. How he came to be this hard, plastic shell of a man.

        “More like yelled at him.” He actually chuckled as he recollected on the past. Somewhere, pigs flew in this world. Settling in for the story, Stiles rested his chin on his fist. “We were twins but we hated one another. Never could agree on anything. He wanted to watch TV; I wanted to play outside. He wanted Chinese; I wanted pizza. He attended college in state; I went to Harvard. He wanted a wife, kid and a big Californian house. I loved the freedom of being a young single lawyer in DC. When he and his wife died, they ripped that life away from me. I used to get so angry, I’d yell at their memorial site for hours. I'm just glad they weren't buried here.” For the first time, Stiles viewed the man as an actual human being. He identified with that unwavering anger. Hell, he just went through it. For that reason, Stiles found himself smiling comforting at him. 

        Stiles’s mind blanked on a response. He settled for how he’d respond to a friend. “I’m sorry they’re gone. Did he at least get the kid and the house?” He joked lightly, pouring some comedy on the situation. Only, Mr. Whittemore entire side stiffened, a dark hazy frown took control of his face.

       Oh. Shit. Stiles gaped at the secret his body language whispered. Life made so much sense now. Stiles’s mind exploded. Jackson ripped away his high lifestyle. He blamed his nephew, who was a living representation of the brother he despised. Shit, why couldn’t their lives be easy?

 _Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one._ His mom’s favorite quote glinted in the back of his mind. Neither of them spoke. They were both stunned that Mr. Whittemore admitted his secret to Stiles. Though he frowned, his shoulders relaxed as if the weight of holding it in all these years lifted.

        “I don’t know why I just told you that.” Mr. W grunted uncomfortably eventually. He was an entirely different man now.

        “Well, technically, you didn’t tell me anything. I’m just smart enough to read between the lines.” Stiles consoled him with a goofy smile. He scoffed. Those Whittemores and trying to hide their amusement with disdain. It must run in the family. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old were you?” With his features relaxed, he seemed relatively young, late-forties at most. "How did you do it?"

        “I was twenty-five and working as the youngest attorney in the Department of Justice when they died. Jackson was one.” The man just turned forty-one years old!?! How was that even possible? "I hated it but, I moved back home, refurnished their house, hired a nanny, and started a practice in LA."  _And they were living in the original house?_ No wonder he was never home. "Mrs. Whittemore was my paralegal."

          Stiles shifted away discreetly. "I see how that would make someone angry. If you didn't want to, why did you take him in?” Maybe, this is where Stiles challenged him to be a better man.

        “I don’t know.” He ran a frustrated around over his perfectly coiffed hair. “Obligation? Our parents were ill-fitted for the job and our older sister already had a league of children so it fell to me.” Stiles heard the worse excuse for deciding to raise a child. He was livid on Jackson's behalf.  “Sometimes we make sacrifices.” Was he making sacrifices? Stiles pondered. He and his wife resided in LA while Jackson came home to an empty house every night. Mr. Whittemore sensed his judgment because he started justifying his actions. “I don’t expect you understand my actions. I made the best choices in an unfortunate situation.”

        “I know you did what you had to do and I’m happy you did because of obvious reasons.” Stiles shook his head; the man took his silence as an appraisal. “I just wish…” Was he going to blurt it out? Did he have enough balls? He did. “Jackson felt the unconditional love a parent gives their child. My dad and I have been through hell but I know he loves me. Jackson thinks you hate him.” The last part was a low blow. Stiles realized that. Mr. W needed to know. He accepted his consequences. 

        “You have been here what, a few months?” He snapped at him, lowering his voice to an eerie venomous groan. “How dare you criticize my parenting skills?”

        “That is not my intention. I only care about Jackson.”

        “And, I don’t!?” He roared, breathing heat on the left side of Stiles’s face. “For the last fifteen years, I have given my nephew everything a kid could possibly want.” In one sentence, he proved Stiles’s point. Askance, he frowned at the man, judging the fuck out of him.

        “Actually, he’s your _son_ according to the government. Until you see him as that first, you haven’t even begin to grasp what unconditional love means. I apologize if that offends you.” The man, speechless, gaped at him with new-found respect.

        A splitting growl near the front of the house cut off Mr. Whittemore’s response. Their heads snapped in the direction of the commotion. Bookmarking this conversation, Stiles raced down the other path through the front gardens. He barely registered Mr. Whittemore walking hastily behind him.

        His legs carried him to the front yard where Scott, Derek, and Boyd held Jackson back from attacking Peter. Wait, Peter? What? Stiles cast a double take at Derek’s uncle. In a classic black and white suit, Peter cackled in amusement as Jackson thrashed against three other werewolves. Exasperated, Stiles sighed dramatically. Wherever that man went, trouble followed.

        Before barging in between supernatural creatures, Stiles accessed the situation. Isaac and Erica stood to the side, tracking the commotion with worried glances. Danny ushered his mom and sister inside the house, sealing them from the commotion. Lydia and her mom consoled a crying Mrs. Whittemore. His dad, Ms. McCall, and her car were missing. They left.

        “Don’t kill the messenger, Jackie.” Peter smirked slyly, raising his hand to his face. He scraped off the dirt on his shoes. The creep sensation he felt was Peter. Peter overheard him and Mr. W talking. Crap, Stiles cursed. 

        “Stop lying!” His boyfriend roared. That’s what he and Mr. Whittemore heard. “You’re always lying! See what you did.” He jabbed a finger at his sobbing mom. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill-”

        “JACKSON!” Derek barked lowly, his tone immediately silencing the threat spilling from his mouth.

        “What in the heavens is going on?” Mr. Whittemore finally burst from the gardens. Horrible timing, Stiles grimaced. He saddled up to Stiles’s side and then stopped. Upon hearing his voice, Jackson swiveled around viciously, his breathing erratic. Stiles frantically glanced at Derek, trying to convey a beware message. Nodding, Derek clutched tighter onto Jackson’s forearm. He’d never felt so petrified of Jackson in his life. His heart sped up, subconsciously.

        Jackson caught sight of him and faltered. Though he forced a warm smile on his face, he chanted ‘don’t wolf out’ repeatedly. His calming magic almost brought him off the edge. Then, Mr. Dumbass opened his loud trap.

        “Is anyone going to answer me?” He demanded as if they all lived to attend to his needs. Stiles glared at him in disgust. How does one say ‘if you don’t shut up, your son will kill you’ non-verbally? In his peripheral, Jackson broke away from all three of their grips. That alone confirmed they were in a danger zone. He charged at his dad and it took all of Stiles’s restraint not to step away.

        “Tell me it’s not true.” Jackson snarled when he stepped into his father’s face. No one dared touch him, not even Derek. “You said you never knew my real parents. That better still be the truth or I’m going to fucking lose it.” He, along with Danny and Lydia, gasped at his blatant disrespect. For a long moment, time froze. Not a soul moved or spoke. They barely even breathed. Stiles knew this day was too good to be true.

        “What did the gentleman tell you?” When Mr. Whittemore finally spoke, his tone was steady, calm, and attentive. Maybe, Stiles’s words affected him after all.  

        “That you knew my real parents. That you’re really my…really my…” He stuttered trying to form the last portion. Stiles sent him courage and perseverance. He was going to need it after this. Since he couldn't manage the words, Mr. Whittemore did it for him.

        “That I’m your uncle. It’s true." He confirmed, eliciting several gasps from the crowd. Mrs. Whittemore cried out, as if this affected her more than he devastated son. 

        “Your father is my-” He paused, correcting himself. “He was my twin brother.” Did he have to keep shoving salt on Jackson’s newly opened wound? In horror, Stiles saw the unnatural opal blue begin to bleed through his irises. He stepped between them, using his height as a blockade. They didn't need to add werewolf reveal to the list. Jackson’s entire body vibrated with rage. He tried to push Stiles away but he held his ground.

        “Stiles. Get out of my way.” He muttered, when physically moving him failed. Stiles leaned in closer without making the mistake of touching him.

        “What are you gonna do huh?” He whispered back, keeping his hands at his side. “Tell me a good plan that doesn’t involve maiming and I’ll move.”

        “No. Move.” He snarled with his eyes a full vibrant blue. Stiles shivered. This wasn't what he had in mind when he admitted liking a wolfed out Jackson.

        “Hey. This is really a good thing if you think about it. I mean-” He scrambled for the right words.

        “Stiles. Shut up.” His scowl lessened to an irritated frown. Progress, Stiles shuffled closer.

       “No. Listen to me.” He snapped, growing frustrated at the situation itself. “This man is many things. Entitled. Rude. Selfish.” Mr. Whittemore grunted behind him and Stiles almost kicked him. He should be thanking Stiles. “But, he’s your blood. Your blood, Jacks. Not some legal guardian. That’s insane right? You have an uncle, grandparents, an aunt who gave birth to a shit ton of kids, cousins! You have a family and you shouldn’t let him deprive you of that anymore.” He inhaled a chunk of air once the word drifted between them. His intention was to soothe him. Not bring tears to his eyes. Stiles’s heart broke.

        Damning this no touching notion to hell, Stiles eliminated the space between them. He decided against exposing him to everyone. Hiding his touch, Stiles caressed the soft cotton blue fabric of his Oxford, mollifying him. “Hey. Shhh. Baby, it’s ok.” Stiles murmured, stroking his fingers against his tensed stomach. His efforts only brought more tears but thankfully no sobs. “Why don't you go wait in the Jeep? I’m just going to grab our stuff and then we can get out of here.” After a moment of hesitation, Jackson gave a small nod. He spun on his heels with his head shielded to the ground. He did manage to ram into Peter’s side as he passed. Stiles smirked. Always a fighter, that one. 

        Everyone listened for the Jeep metal door to slam shut before dispersing. Most of them headed back to the yard. Stiles's only priority was getting Jackson out of here. First, he flipped off Peter, bringing a laugh to Isaac and surprisingly Derek’s mouth. Peter, with little remorse, winked at him. Psychopathic Asshole. Stiles rolled his eyes as he swiveled to address Mr. Whittemore. He regarded Stiles’s with a grateful expression on his face.  

        “He’ll be staying with me tonight and most likely tomorrow. You can call me if you want updates. Lydia has my number.” He addressed the man as if he was his equal. Thank goodness, his dad decided to leave. “Try to think about what we talked about.” Instead of protesting, Mr. Whittemore extended his hand in Stiles’s direction. Astonished, Stiles marveled at his simple, yet powerful gesture. Stiles shook it firmly, wearing a solemn smile. He accomplished his objective and it only took nearly destroying Jackson’s world. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe trip.” Stiles sent his a message. One that said ‘I know you plan to disappear again.’ Stiles pulled his hand away and jogged to the backyard. Scott, Erica, Isaac, Danny's Sister and Allison sat at one end of the messy brunch table, picking off a plate of leftover deserts. They changed Lydia’s "classical jazz" to Erica’s iPod. He shimmied to the Maroon 5 song, stealing one of the brownies off the platter.

        “Would you guys mind?” He motioned around them at the cluttered table and the leftover food. He felt bad leaving the place a mess when this was “his idea.”

        “We got it, bro.” Scott reassured him, handing him both his and Jackson’s jackets. “We were going to hang out here a while anyway. Go on.”

        “Thanks. I owe you one.” He wrapped their jackets over his arm. “Isaac, I’ll dry clean these and get them to you this week.”

        Isaac chuckled. “You can just stick them in the wash. They’re nothing fancy. Oh wait.” He leaned over Scott to dig through the ice-filled cooler on the floor. “Take this.” He pulled out one of the unopened bottles of expensive wine the Whittemores bought. “Now _this_ looks fancy.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Stiles cackled, taking the chilled bottle from his hand. He couldn’t just walk out of here with it so Stiles wrapped it inside Isaac’s blazer.

         As a last minute decision, he decided he wanted to take the leftover Cinnamon buns too. Stiles shuffled the warm aluminum bin, jackets, and wine around until he balanced them perfectly.

        “What!?! Not the Cinnamon Buns!” Erica leaned over to see which item he took. Stiles placated her trivial woes, informing her of the second bin on the chilling rack. “Well, in that case, go cuddle your boo.” She patted his arm and plopped back down in her chair.

         “We’ll have Danny bring you guys some leftovers.” Allison promised. Stiles smiled gratefully. He meant what he said earlier. They were easily becoming his family. With a wave, Stiles made the short trek to the Jeep. He passed Lydia on the way, acknowledging her ‘call me later.’ Though the pan started to burn his arm, he slowed when he caught sight of Danny talking with Jackson. They said their quick goodbyes when he rounded Derek’s car.

         Instead of retreating, Danny sprinted around to Stiles’s side, helping him with the door. He slid the platter over, and then threw their jackets down beside them. To avoid permanent damage to Isaac’s, Stiles unwrapped the wine, settling it between then pans and his lacrosse bag. Always careful in case someone stopped them.

         “Thanks D.” Stiles hugged him from the side. 

         “Thank me?” He scoffed. “Thank you. He told me what you said. It made a difference. It'll take awhile but, he's going to be fine.” His honest dimpled smile pulled at Stiles's heartstrings. God bless their bromance. With a friendly grin, Stiles hopped in his seat. “Talk later?” He looked out the window at his friend. Danny nodded, stepping out the way. Without another word, Stiles pulled away from Derek’s house. With each mile reached, his mind felt clearer.

         “So…to mine?” He glanced over at Jackson, once they hit the stop sign. Jackson glanced in the direction heading towards the center of town dubiously. Then, he turned to look out Stiles’s window. If Stiles remembered correctly, that highway was I-5 S which led right into Sacramento.

         “Sacramento is an hour and a half away.” Jackson informed him, taking the words right out of his mouth. Stiles laughed, figuring he was joking. Jackson, with his puffy redness, side-eyed him earnestly.

        “Wait, you want to go to Sacramento? Seriously?” He asked. His hand hovered over the turning signal. “Without clothes or a place to stay?” Jackson raised his eyebrows as if those weren't important factors in travel. “You’re thinking we’ll just blow money aren't you? What about your dad?” He despised bringing up the man but, it needed to be addressed. 

        Jackson shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s what Whittemores do, right?” He asked bitterly. Stiles sighed but nodded yes. Still, he lingered at the crossroads. Should he turn right (Beacon Hills) or left (Sacramento)?

        “Are you ok?” The answer to that question was the answer to his decision. Jackson pondered his answer, tilting his head up to the roof.

        “Not really.” He lamented. With that, Stiles flicked his blinker right. They allowed the oncoming car to speed by and he took the turn. He drove silently. An hour later at four o’clock, Stiles stopped at the first major gas station. Assuming Jackson was sleep, he used his own money to fill the tank. While he waited in line, Stiles called his dad, letting him know the plan. The scolding was minimal once Stiles explained the entire situation. He allowed him to continue their impromptu vacation after Stiles promised to return by eleven tomorrow night. With his receipt in hand, he set back on the road. His bank account mourned the loss of fifty dollars.

        “Stiles.” Jackson muttered a few minutes later. He peeped over at him. “Don’t do that again.” He insisted, opening his left eye. “We only spend his money.” Stiles nodded, finding zero objections to his demands. His bank account cheered. “Oh and another thing. He’s my uncle.”

        “What?” The statement puzzled him. 

        “Earlier, you called him my dad. He isn’t. He’s my uncle.” He clarified while removing his shoes and throwing his feet up on the dashboard. They just shifted into an alternate reality where Jackson loosened up and Stiles looked on with a distressed frown. “Wake me up when we get there.” He reached back for his undeniably expensive jacket, balled it up, and used it as a pillow. Just a few hours ago, he was slapping Erica’s greasy hands away to avoid ruining the material.

        Yeah…this was going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the angst is almost over. Give me one more chapter and fluffiness for everyone! I can feel their happy ending on the tip of my tongue.  
> For a little collage on outfits ---> http://tinyurl.com/pb2tfyn  
> Thanks for reading!!!


	11. California Dreamin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me formally apologizing for the beginning pop culture references. I saw Colton singing '19 You + Me' on YouTube and I couldn't help myself. If you haven't seen it, umm, here now---> [Prepare yourself lol.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlxOTFUYLzc)

**_“_ ** _But dar-ling, stay with meee. **”**_

       Stiles belted the last line of _Stay with Me._  Driving on four hours of sleep was manageable with a little help from this killer radio station and fresh air. He clutched the wheel, anticipating the next song. It went to commercial. Sighing, he cruised along the other cars as the hosts informed him of a major accident.

       “Well, there you have it. If I were you, I’d stay away from the Bay. I’m so funny!” The radio personality sighed a laugh while his female counterpart shot him down. Stiles chuckled though. He loved a good play on words. “But seriously guys. It’s brutal on the bridge. Near standing traffic for miles in addition to the toll. You might as well turn around right now. Who says you need to get home today?"

       "Oh my god. Kellan, you're so ridiculous." The other personality giggled, implying how much she loved that ridiculousness. "You’re listening to 92.5. You know we like to change it up sometime. So, here's one we've been obsessing over. Lee Brice with I Don’t Dance.” Ooo, Stiles loved discovering new favorites. A smooth melody filled his speakers, soothing him immediately. He wasn’t a country fan, but Stiles liked the man's piercing unhurried tone.

       Beside him, Jackson stirred, softly humming the words. Stiles startled, having thought was sleep. He barely moved an inch since the gas station. That was a long while ago. Eventually, Jackson was uncurling his body and placing his feet on the floor.

        “You’re up.” He smiled cautiously, sneaking peeks every few seconds. He shifted in his seat, at a loss on how to interact with this side of him.

        “I was never sleep.” He grumbled back, disoriented. Rubbing his jaw, Jackson scanned their surroundings. “Where are we? It’s been forever.”

        Stiles didn't know. He used this month’s data allotment on ridiculous YouTube videos and social media. A GPS would solve everything right now. He shrugged his shoulders, tossing Jackson an embarrassed smile. “I’ve just been driving, hoping a Sacramento sign would smack me in the face.”

        “Of course you have.” The beginnings of a smile touched his face. Yes! Stiles cheered. An almost smile was a good start. “Why didn’t you use your phone?”

       “No data. Check on yours.” He handed him his phone, laying in one of the cup holders. As he checked, the highway traffic began to thicken, setting off an alarm in Stiles’s head. The realization of their location hit them at the same time. He gawked at the expansive Bay Bridge a mile ahead. He was no geography expert but everyone knew the Bay Bridge was among San Francisco's many landmarks. Silence settled over them as the Jeep stalled behind a black minivan. Then, a burst of laughter emanated from the passenger's seat. Jackson's head shook violently in time with his quaking shoulders.

        “It’s not funny.” He pouted, inching closer when traffic moved. By now, tears accumulated in his eyes. At least, he preferred these tears to the sad ones.

       “I’m sorry.” His laugh subsided but a goofy smile remained on his face. “It’s just… only you would end up in San Francisco. It's like three hours away from Beacon Hills.”

       “So glad my pain amuses you. Truly.” He tried for serious but his own smile broke the allusion. “You want me to turn around?” They looked around them. Rows of cars packed them into their spot. Not possible. The next exit was across the bridge. “I guess it makes sense that they were reporting San Fran traffic.”

        “You were too busy jamming to notice the large San Francisco Traffic Signs.”

       “Hey! Sam Smith is an emotional god.” He’d defend that delicate flower to the end. Jackson grinned, leaning his head back against the window. Stiles watched his hair spikes bristle against the glass. “Speaking of music, I didn’t know you liked country.”

        He nodded tersely, now that their moment passed. “Guilty Pleasure, I guess.” He responded a minute later when Stiles gave up on conversation. “You don’t?”

        Relieved, Stiles grinned. “You know I like my music catchy and karaoke-able.” He teased, driving forward another few feet. Jackson scowled at him as if he insulted his dog. Without a word, he rummaged through the glove compartment until he located the cassette doohickey that connects devices to the radio.

       “Listen to this and tell me you don’t love it.” He insisted, cutting off Stiles’s teasing. “Nope. Don’t speak.” He snapped his fingers, pointing to the outdated entertainment system. He obliged him, since he showed another emotion besides frostiness. The quick-paced track started and it was undeniably country: guitar, banjo, drums and all. Then, the singer’s voice, so sweet and slick, invaded his senses. And the chorus was catchy too! Loving it, Stiles bobbed his head, ignoring the satisfied smirk emanating from Jackson. By the end of the song, he was singing along. " _Nothing like you. Shades on spinning in a summer rain. Dancing in the rain no music"_ They reminded him of Rascal Flatts, the only country band he did love. " _Ain’t nobody ever seen nothin’ like you." **  
**_

The song ended and Stiles was mourning their absence. “Who was that and how can I get them to marry me?” Jackson chuckled, pressing the pause button before another song started.

         “Welcome to the world of Dan + Shay. They’re…” He searched for a good descriptor, settling on, “Very poppy. Good but poppy. I figured you’d like them.”

       “Like them? I love them. More.” He chanted, beating his hand against the steering wheel. He played the entire album while Stiles's inched closer to the expansive city. Their music was so great; he felt them in his soul. A few weeks from now, when they were still on repeat, Jackson would regret this moment.

        After he caught Jackson singing to 19 You + Me, Stiles demanded a show. All these months and he was hiding this crazily amazing voice. They replayed the album; this time, Stiles listened to Jackson instead of his background singers. With each day, Jackson’s level of perfection astounded him.

        “How are you so perfect?” He asked, lowering the volume until their voices were a hum in the background.

        “What!?” He smirked over at him. “I’m like the least perfect person in this world.” He scowled playfully, done with his modesty. He dealt with the toll attendant first before continuing their conversation.

        “You’re shitting me right? Let’s see...." He counted with his fingers all the ways Jackson was unreal. "You barely try and still get good grades. You're like **the** athlete but you can geek out on video games. Your body is like-unnatural. Don't even get me started on your face." He scoffed. "You're mostly sweet and loyal to your friends even when you pretend you hate them. You have money and you can sing! Naw.  I call bullshit.” Stiles shook his head in disbelief. “You and I have a different definition of perfection.” He laughed, as the Jeep, finally free of traffic, sped over the bridge.

        Although his face was a mess of flushed pinks and blotchy reds, Jackson disagreed. “You’re deranged. Seriously. You just fled brunch because I almost wolfed out on the man that raised me my entire life.” Stiles heard the masked venom in his voice. “I’m not perfect and you’re bias.” He was. Stiles beamed at him, letting that topic die. 

        “So where’s this ‘ _who cares if it’s 500 dollars a night. It’s so awesome Stiles’_ hotel you reserved?” He mimicked his awe-struck tone from twenty minutes ago. He smiled at his boyfriend’s little snort.

        “Take this exit and stay to the right.” Stiles did as instructed, veering off the exit ramp. This city reminded him of New York with its urban buildings, one-way streets, and picture-taking tourists. It was a fresh change compared to the suburban feel of Beacon Hills. “You've been here before?”

        “Once with my…parents. I was like eight though. I mostly stayed at the hotel.” At least, they took him. This time, they were going to do everything. After he guzzled a large cup of coffee or took a quick nap. “It’s just up ahead.” Stiles searched for this luxurious place. There was no hotel. Only some residential condos on the left and a government building on the right. The massive establishment was your typical elegant Neo-classical building: white Greek columns and intricate designs carved into triangular portico.

        "I think we're in the wrong place." He scanned the street once more, confirming his suspicions. 

        "What are you talking about? It's right there." Jackson pointed to the building he was just admiring. That was a hotel?!? His jaw dropped to his lap. He almost didn't believe him. Then, a sleek black luxury car whipped into the circular drive, causing a team of young valet and bellhops to service them. No way he was fitting in here.

        With his now clammy hands gripping the wheel, Stiles pleaded with him. “There’s not like a Marriott we can stay at or something.”  

        “I’m not staying at a Marriott.” His brow knitted at the thought. Stiles forgot how materialistic he was sometimes. “Come on. There’s no difference between you and these people.” _Right._ Neither of them believed that. Having no choice, he eased in front of the hotel. Two valet flanked both sides of the street. His valet, a grinning Korean-American dude with a floppy smile, opened the door for him as if he was someone important.

        “Thanks dude.” Stiles grabbed his duffle bag, stuffing the wine inside. He toyed with whether to grab the Cinnamon Buns, deciding yes so they wouldn’t stink up his car.

      Their impressively maintained aroma floated around the car.  “Oh man. That smells delicious.” The valet groaned, leaning in for another waft. At his loud stomach gurgling, he blushed at Stiles in embarrassment.

        “You want them?” Stiles offered, scowling at Jackson’s snicker under the hotel’s portico.

        “Seriously?” He gawked at Stiles and the pan, astonished. Stiles nodded. “Awesome. Thanks man. Give them to him.” He nodded to his coworker, sitting behind a podium. “Stick shift right?”

        “Yeah. Be careful with my baby.”

         “Will do. Thanks again!” He hopped in the Jeep and slid into ongoing traffic. Stiles watched until his precious disappeared around the corner.

        After unloading their Cinnamon Buns, he purposefully walked several paces behind Jackson into the lobby. He was the only one with the fake. Besides, these elitist snobs probably smelled charity cases from miles away. To blend, he slid over to the populated leather couches, while Jackson checked in.

        The cloying smell of wine attacked his nose. That’s his drawback to alcohol, the overpowering scent. Faking it, he grinned cordially at the cluster of women gossiping next to him. They each held a wine glass in their manicured palms. In fact, mostly everyone nursed a glass as they mingled.

        “Good Evening,” Stiles jumped, startled by the waiter who materialized out of nowhere. “My apologies sir.” The man chuckled. “Can I interest you in  a complimentary glass of wine? We host happy hour every evening between the hours of six and seven.” Gesturing to his outstretched tray, he offered Stiles one of the glasses. Tempting, Stiles eyed the tray but he declined. With a kind smile, he moved on to the next alcohol-less guest. He was grateful when Jackson pushed away from the counter. Instead of meeting him, he gestured to the bank of elevators. Stiles practically sprinted.  

       “You killing me with this hotel. Happy hour?” He mouthed when they were close enough. When Jackson didn’t smirk, Stiles realized something was wrong. His aloof expression from earlier returned. “What happened?” He strode closer, enough to be comforting but still professional. He blanched at Jackson’s tense shoulders. He received his message. “I’m going to grab a nap. We can do dinner or something after that. If you want too.” He stated, pressing the elevator button for up.

        “Ok. Here’s your key.” His tone clipped and detached.

        Stiles swiveled around to grab the small envelope of cardstock. Inside was a golden card for room 715. He wondered if Jackson bought two Queen Beds or one King. Most likely two, judging by how he was currently acting. They were finally having a good time too. Damn.

         When the elevator dinged open and Jackson didn’t follow him inside, he frowned. “You’re not coming?” Stiles held the door opened, illustrating he expected an answer.

        “No. I need air.” Jackson grinded his teeth. Sleep could wait, Stiles decided. He wanted to be there for Jackson as he was there for him. Stiles shot him a caring grin.

        “Ok. I’ll go with y-” He had one foot out the elevator when Jackson snapped at him.

       “NO.” He barked, huffing through his nose. Those closest to them paused all conversation to watch them. Stiles empathized with his situation but this wasn’t Beacon Hills. They were staying in a hotel filled with Mr. Whittemores. Stiles felt waves of scornful judgment whip around them. More importantly, they watched for his reaction. Despite his own aggravation, Stiles remained composed.

        “Fine.” He raised his hands in a surrender. He knew when to back off. “Wake me up when you… get back.” His subliminal message drifted between them as the doors closed.

 

* * *

        “Here’s your card, _Mr. Whittemore_.”

        “Are you comfortable with a King deluxe suite on the seventh floor, _Mr. Whittemore_?”

        “Excellent. That will be $410 dollars, _Mr. Whittemore_.”

        “Alright. Here are your key cards. Enjoy your stay, _Mr. Whittemore_.”

**Mr. Whittemore. Mr. Whittemore. Mr. Whittemore.**

        Bloody Hell. Jackson struggled to breathe, as he ripped through the hotel entrance, barely sparing a respectful thank you to the doorman. The undeniable truth finally hit him. He was a replica of his dad/uncle/biggest douche bag ever. He dressed like him. He behaved like him. He tossed around money like him. Hell, he even snapped at his boyfriend just as his dad did to his mom. God, Jackson didn't want to be him. He wanted to be himself but who was that exactly? No, who was he without his influence? Better yet, how different would he act if he’d grown up with his real dad? Christ, did his actual dad look like his imitation dad? Was his real name actually Jackson? Did his parents name him? Where did his mom fit into all of this? His adopted mom, not the woman who birth him. Although, she was a mystery too. Questions pounded against his brain, forcing him to deal with the hand dealt to him. Until now, he was fine, entertained by Stiles’s jarring karaoke skills. In the car, with his face chilled against the windows and his feet propped on the dashboard, he felt in control Now, he was seething with no idea of how to burn it off.

        Normally, he released his anger through chronic behavior. The old days, he turned to drinking. All he needed was a bottle of Jack, an empty field, and his anger. He’d numb the pain until he felt nothing. Then Lydia scared him with an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and he found the next best thing. Sex. She was always down with him drowning in her body. Eventually, she stopped being his girlfriend and started being his cure. Now his brain associated anger with sex. Following Stiles to their secluded hotel room would have been disastrous. Rage + Strong Werewolf Urges + Teenage Hormones + his feelings for Stiles= one extremely frustrated, fuming, yet conflicted Jackson. For now, he thought about Derek kicking his ass if he injured another person. They worked so hard for his usually unwavering control. Inhaling slowly, he reigned in the wrath, clenching his fist at his side. 

        His feet guided him away from the hotel. San Francisco was always the perfect city. This place held one of the only few fond memories he held of his parents. So much for that, he huffed, crossing the street into a premier shopping area. All of his favorites jumped out at him: Diesel, Lacoste, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Nordstroms. Yet, he couldn’t stomach looking at them. They all reminded him of his dad. He whisked passed each one of them, disregarding their pull. Strolling by a closed boutique, he caught sight of his reflection in the window, despising the view. If only, there was one difference. Just one. Clamping his eyes shut, he suppressed the prickles of moisture threatening to spill from his tear ducks. He refused to cry again today. Once was humiliating enough. A jovial merriment next door grabbed his attention. He leaned back to read the storefront sign: Keratin Salon. Whether it was a sign or not, he strolled in, adjusting to the bright LED lighting.

        “Excuse me. Do you accept walk-ins?” He interrupted two women, the redhead receptionist and her giggling friend, with a fabricated smile. Silencing, as if he ruined their fun, they scowled at him. He waited them out. Like most people, they were helpless against his charisma.

        “No but lucky you, Francesca’s last appointment cancelled. What are you looking for?” She asked reluctantly. He thought about her question as they assessed his ensemble. He’d always worn his hair in this style, even as a kid. It was another aspect of his life his 'father' chose for him. 

        “A butch cut would look good on you.” Her friend suggested when they realized he was having difficulty answering the question. “It’s like a buzz cut but a fourth of an inch longer. It’ll accentuated that sexy jawline better.” She pointed to his jaw with her bare fingernail. 

        “Ooh, I can see that.” The receptionist squealed, snapping her fingers in excitement. “Maybe, taper it a little right here, give it that slightly faded look.” She used a pen, gesturing along the side of his hairline. He had no idea what they were going on about. They both rolled their eyes at Jackson’s ignorant look. 

         “No time for explanations. We close in an hour. I promise you’ll leave here eighty million times sexier than when you walked in. It’s what I do.” Well, they had him there. They grinned mischievously when he agreed. “Come on then cutie.”

        “Oh, you’re Francesca?” That relieved him some. She already had a vision in her head. Trying to translate that idea to another stylish was a recipe for disaster.

        “I told you it’s what I do.” She winked at him, leading him to her station in the back. Only one other client, a girl getting highlights, was left in the salon. Jackson smirked, thankful for the relaxing atmosphere. “So, what with the random visit?” She inquired, pushing his head into the shampooing sink. At this angle, with his head tilted back, it took extra effort to talk. 

        “Just needed a change, I guess.” He left his explanation at that. A second later, the rush of water stopped their conversation anyway. Her skilled, quick hands were a massage to his brain. It was as if she squeezed out his frustration while the water washed it down the drain. Oddly enough, after being under the spray for ten minutes, it felt calmer. They toweled him off and relocated to her station. Facing a sparkling mirror, he watched as she worked. With her need for conversation, she kept his mind occupied. They discussed safe topics: Beacon Hills, San Francisco, the best tourist spots, and her future salon plans. He liked talking to her. By the time, she asked her original question again, Jackson felt comfortable retelling the story. He omitted the details, only telling her about his two sets of parents and their connection. She gasped at the ‘I’m really your uncle’ bit. Apparently, his life was a murder away from classifying as a soap opera. If only she knew his past. He cackled bitterly at the irony. She smiled at him through the mirror.

        “Clearly, you need to let loose.” She yelled over the incessant hum of clippers. Jackson grunted a laugh. Understatement of the year. “My brothers own a club in the Castro. You should come with us.” He raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. “Oh right. I forgot you aren't a native. The Castro is like the place to be for the LGBT community. That’s not a problem right?” Her voice dripped with severity.

        Jackson tossed her a ‘do I look homophobic’ smirk. “I have a boyfriend.” _That I was an ass too,_ he let that portion go unsaid. Not wanting to think about Stiles right now, he focused on his evaporating hair. 

         “Of course you do." She winked. "If he’s here, you have to bring him.” Her eyes wiggled suggestively. “I bet he’s a hot little slice, huh?” Stiles would be equal parts offended and flattered by her comment. A minuscule frown settled on his face, as their spat in the hotel hobby replayed in his head. “Uh oh. I know that look. Whatever you did. Apologize. Even if you don’t think it was your fault, always apologize.” With Stiles, it probably was that easy. He deserved better, though. “You know what, just think about it.” She filled in the silence with more talking. She’d click with Stiles immediately. “I’ll give you my number and text me if you decide to come. We always grab dinner and drinks at Hi Tops before hand. It's a sports bar."

        "What's the place called?"

        "The club? Avenue." 

        “Like the one in Sacramento?” He, Danny, and Ethan met at the club a few weeks ago. They carried the magical werewolf brew. He doesn’t remember much of that night.

        “Yep. They own a chain of them up and down the coast. This one’s the best and I’ve been to all of them. Literally.” Her last word rang louder when the droning sound of the clippers vanished. “What do you think?” She clicked her tongue, nodding to the smudge-less mirror. 

         He surveyed the finishing product, rotating his head from side to side. He barely saw his dad now. He saw a thin layer of deep brown fuzz and a sharp jaw line. Oh yeah. A slow smile crept over the length of his face. “Looks good.”

        “Don’t lie. You look badass and I’m a genius.” She preened, pawing at her masterpiece. She deserved the credit. Still gawking in the mirror, he repeated her statement, switching around the pronouns. He looked so BA; he added a $20 dollar tip to his $75 dollar haircut. They exchanged numbers before Jackson rose from his chair.

         “I’ll talk to him and let you know.” They had at least two hours before it was acceptable to go clubbing anyway. They still had to deal with Stiles’s lack of a fake.

         She walked him to the front. Receptionist girl beamed in delight at his new look. “If you meet us at Hi Tops, you can go through the service entrance with us. They always hog the expensive drinks back there.” 

        “Ok.” He smirked. “Thanks. Later.” He waved, stepping out into the frisk air. A portion of the large weight lifted from his chest. Even better, the bright Saks Fifth Avenue sign, across the street, no longer curled his stomach. With a satisfied grin on his face, he strolled to the department store. He and Stiles couldn’t wear these clothes forever right?

* * *

       Stiles laid on their King-Sized bed for fifteen minutes before giving up on sleep. Frustrated, he trudged out of their luxurious room, in search of a computer. Luckily, he stumbled upon the hidden business center on the basement level next to a French-styled café. After ordering a tall regular coffee and a chocolate chip cookie, he settled in a 24-hour Mac computer lab. Alone in the room, he hammered out his English essay due tomorrow. With his mind analyzing British literature, he stopped worrying about Jackson. He finished in record timing, forty-five minutes. At 9:15, he collapsed into the back of the black leather chair, composing an email to himself with his paper attached. Just as he pulled up Netflix, his phone rang with Jackson’s picture. Stiles sighed and groaned, simultaneously.

        “Hello.” He answered casually, despite his obvious fretting. Stiles knew his pounding heart was audible over the phone.

       “Where are you? I’m in the room.” Concern rushed from his mouth. Stiles rolled his eyes. If anyone should be concerned, it’s him. “Stiles? I’m sorry for snapping at you.” He muttered. How could he resists that adorable apologetic tone?

       He huffed, already forgiving him. “I’m coming. Stay put.” He disconnected the line. So long Netflix, he thought, as he gathered his trash. The folks at the café bid him goodnight when he passed. As the elevator crawled higher, his anxiety went into overdrive. He wasn’t irritated that Jackson snapped on him, though that sucked too. He wanted- no needed- to return the favor. He spent days in Stiles’s bed, comforting him. He spoiled him with food and video games, cuddling until their skin melded together. One night, even Percy got in on the cuddling action. Holding him back from exploding was the least Stiles could do. Now, he couldn’t do that. Stiles sighed, retreating from the elevator. 

        The door opened before Stiles even pulled his key card out. Life blurred around him when Jackson yanked him into their suite. 

        “Shit. I thought you left me.” Jackson muttered, crowding him against the hotel wall. He melted when strong arms enveloped him. “I’m sorry.” He burrowed his head in the crook of his neck. Stiles grinned over his head. Hugging him felt like coming home after a long, stressful vacation. He moved to cradle his head for a kiss and noticed the lack silky smooth hair. Confused, he pushed Jackson’s head back to get a better look. In the dim light, he strained to make out his new haircut. Holy hell, Stiles’s mind blanked on words. A buzz cut never looked better, even when it was on him. (And, his looked damn good back in the day). Jackson put his buzz cut to shame. His mouth watered as he imagined tasting the saltiness accumulated along the outline of his angular jaw.

        “You like it?” Jackson asked, looking bashful at the floor. When words escaped him, he resulted to action. He groaned, running his hand over the soft bristles and dipping low to capture his mouth. Normally, they’d kiss with a slow, unhurried pace. Quality over quantity and all that jazz but, tonight, in this darkened room, Stiles was so over that. Deepening the kiss, Jackson canted his hips into Stiles’s, smashing him firmly against the wall. Contrary to the movies, this position killed his back. The framed edge of portrait on the wall nearly pierced the skin between his shoulder blades.

        Without breaking the kiss, Stiles spun them around, tugging off his undershirt as he walked backwards into the dark suite. Muscle memory helped them navigate around the furniture. Not once did he bump into a chair or stumble over a side table. He even managed to undo several buttons from Jackson’s oxford shirt. His sudden suaveness astounded them both. Stiles grinned in the middle of the kiss, proud of himself. Jackson chuckled lightly, running his hands down Stiles’s bare sides. He quivered under his cold (and somewhat dry) hands. He wanted nothing more than to slide their naked torsos together. Too bad Oxford shirts had so many buttons. He worked on them delicately as Jackson pushed him to the bed.

        As he collapsed on the mattress, Stiles expected cool plushy heaven to welcome him. Because this was his life, he got crackling plastic, ripping paper, and a hanger puncturing his lower back. A screeching wail emanated from his mouth upon contact. He arched off the bed, knocking Jackson off him and onto the floor. Stiles rolled until the bags finally turned into Egyptian cotton.

        On top of his everlasting pain, Jackson had the nerve to laugh. It wasn’t a tiny chuckle either. He exploded with stomach-clenchin, tear-formin, uncontrollable laughter. All because HIS bags ruined their sexy time. He wanted to be angry but he found himself smiling anyway. Feeding off Jackson’s energy, his smile progressed to a full guttural laugh. They laid like that for a while, until their gaiety subsided to happy sighs.  

        “So… I may have overdone it with the retail therapy.” He said, after they were quiet for some time.

       Stiles scoffed, rattling the closest paper bag to him. He was curious now. Slowly hovering over the pile, he cataloged each different store. “Diesel, Guess, Saks Fifth, Urban Outfitters, Banana Republic, Lacoste, Scotch & Soda, and Target.” He focused more on the last one, two white plastic bags sat at the base of Mt. Shoppus. “Damn, you save anything for the other shopaholics?”

         “Nope. I show no mercy.” He grunted, inching closer to the bed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Stiles helped him up by clutching onto his forearms. They leaned back together with Jackson’s head laying on his flat ab-less stomach. Stiles ran his hand over the fuzziness of his hair. If was safe to say he was obsessed with this new look. Jackson mewed under his touch. 

         "Hey. This isn't like a post crisis haircut, is it?" He nudged him as the alarming thought popped into his head. They always say never undergo a dramatic change after a traumatic event. He waited so long to answer, Stiles thought he fell asleep in the dark, silence of their room.

         "Probably." He admitted softly, shifting up to look at him. "But, I like it. How's your back?" He raked his palm soothingly up the curve of his spine. 

         "Better when you do that." A moan fell from his lips as he clutched onto his forearm and pulled him until his body blanketed Stiles's entirely. This was just not acceptable. He finally had Jackson where he wanted him and his shirt was on. "Just so you know. I'm banning button downs from your wardrobe." He whispered,  running kisses and nips along his jaw while he struggled with the buttons. Once again, they kept snatching on the holes. Stiles grunted, growing more frustrated by the minute. Obviously, Jackson lost his patience because he covered his hands and ripped the sides apart. Hot desire coursed though his veins as he ducked from the buttons flying across the room. Like unwrapping a present, Stiles pealed the starchy fabric away. God- he'll never grow tired of his body. Stiles raked his palm through the thin hair below his navel. 

         "I guess this means you don't want to go clubbing, then." Jackson muttered before capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Stiles, conflicted, collected the willpower to pull away.

         "Wait. What? Clubbing." He pushed back abruptly, immensely interested in that idea. It's about time he wanted to club with Stiles. He was the ultimate clubber. At least, his friends in New York thought so. With wide dilated pupils and bruised lips, Jackson nodded, looking down at him. "Ok. New plan. Ten more minutes and then the club." Hovering over him, Jackson gave a succinct nod before he rolled his hips back down, creating the greatest of friction. Ten minutes passed. They never left the bed.  

* * *

         If Stiles had to choose one thing he disliked about Jackson, it would be his morning person syndrome. No respectable tourists (unless it’s a family) leaves the hotel before noon. Other couples lounge around in bed, eat some breakfast, and cuddle. Why did they have to trudge through San Francisco at 9:30 in the morning?  Stiles groaned when another steep hill came into view. This was torture. He answered his phone when Jackson called him. He was walking so fast Stiles couldn't see him anymore. 

        “Why aren’t we riding the cable car again?” He yelled over the shrill metal sound of a cable car approaching. In their valiant attempt to walk the two miles to Fisherman’s Wharf, nine of these things have passed them. Each time, he stopped himself from hopping on.

        "Stiles. Just hurry up. I'm two blocks up." He responded with an overly happy tone. 

       Disconnecting the line, Stiles decided he had enough. If he sprinted, he’d reached the stop without a second to spare. After a quick breath, he jolted with speed, weaving through his fellow pedestrians and almost tripping over an open pothole. He and the driver reached the stop at the same time.

       “Quite the runner, kid.” The driver, standing on a plank outside the car, smiled kindly at him. Stiles chuckled, hopping on the open wooden plank as the other tourists. Sitting down on the brown wooden bench, he searched for a fare sign and located one near the front. With a valid ID, seventeen-year-olds and under pay only 75 cents. Hell yeah, Stiles whipped out his wallet to prepare his money and ID. 75 cents well spent.

       Keeping it moving, they continued a slow crawl down the steep hill. Stiles snickered when he saw Jackson looking around for him several feet ahead. As if the wind carried his voice, he snapped in the direction of the Cable Car with a leer. No barrier besides air separated them so he waved. “I love you too! See ya at the bottom!” He said normally, knowing Jackson could hear him. His slack facial expression didn’t register with Stiles until a few blocks later. He said 'I Love You.'Even worse, he implied that Jackson loved him. He said those three words effortlessly too. Almost as if he…actually meant it. Oh god. His breath turned haggard and erratic. _Way to ruin a perfectly good day_ , he reprimanded himself.

       “What did you just say?” Jackson materialized at his side without even one bead of sweat.

        “Dude. What the-” Nope. Family of five seated on the other side. He groaned, reigning in his exclamations. “How did you get on here?” With a wolfish smirk, Jackson’s eyes flickered neon blue. Freaking werewolf, Stiles felt cheated. He had at least 10 more minutes before they reached the bottom.

       “So, you were saying?” He batted his eyes, dramatically in Stiles’s direction. Only Jackson could be a predator one second and a cutie pie the next.

       “Shut up.” Bushing, Stiles shoved his fuzzy head until his body slid down the bench. Jackson chortled. “I was just joking.” Was he though? Neither of him believed his fabricated words. A creepy sensation of **Déjà vu** spread through his veins. “I feel like this has happened before.”

       “It has. You were ‘joking’ about wanting to date my obviously irresistible self and I called you on it.” He bunny-eared the word joking, winking at Stiles’s unamused frown. “Which is exactly what I’m doing now. You love me huh?” Stiles grimaced. “It’s ok.” He thought what would follow those two words would touch his heart. “…I love me too.” He finished, ruining what could have been the cutest moment. Stiles punched him but he was relieved for his light response. Everyone else he’s been involved with would make a dramatic scene. Then again, everyone else wasn’t Jackson. They spent the rest of the ride in silence. Jackson played with his phone while Stiles took in the unique sights of San Francisco.

        Fisherman’s Wharf, at the bottom of the hill, was tourist central. Stiles felt overdressed in his new brand name clothes. Everywhere he turned, he saw old jeans, sweatpants, and worn long sleeve shirts to combat with high winds. He folded his arms defensively across the black hooded moto jacket from Guess. Or, at least that’s what Jackson called it. If people objectifying you comes with the territory of wearing fancier clothes, count him out. A tiny pod of giggling girls whistled at them as they passed. “Please tell me we’re headed to a place where that doesn’t happen.” He gestured to them over his shoulder.

       “Yes.” He smiled, taking Stiles’s hand and interlacing their fingers. “No promises though.” Stiles grinned down at their intertwined hands, ignoring any disapproving looks tossed his way. They strolled along the scenic boardwalk, enjoying the different entertainment acts. Of course, he fell victim to the “Famous Bushman.” He was ranting about how Californians freak in 68 degree weather when the originally motionless bush attacked his legs. Jackson and several other people snickered into their palms as the man revealed his face. His face reddened with embarrassment as he dropped a dollar into the almost over-flowing bucket. It was only 10 o’clock in the morning. He had bank, Stiles grinned, envious of his wealth.

       “I’m gonna be a bushman after college. You see that thing?”

       Jackson pivoted to find the cash bucket. He nodded with a grin. “You’re too jittery. The bush would shake constantly and all your potential customers would cackle at your sad attempts. But go ahead.”

       “Naw, you’re right.” He admitted, turning his head towards the pier. “Holy-!? Look at all those sea lions.” Stiles, like every other enthralled teenager, took off for the fence. In the murky black water, a dozen or so wooden planks held up an unbelievable amount of ‘arfing’ Sea Lions. “How are you not excited about this?” He asked when Jackson casually walked over to him. Although he was unimpressed, Jackson grinned at his exhilaration. “Omg, they keep pushing each other off the plank.” He cackled, watching several larger ones shove the smaller ones into the water. Each time, the little sea lions flopped around in the water and hopped back up. They never stopped trying to stay on the plank. Troopers. “Bullying at its finest.”

       “You are way too excited about this.” Jackson laughed in response, yanking him away. “My place is open now, come on." Quickening their pace, they walked to the end of the boardwalk. A warehouse looking building waited for them at the end. Musee Mechanique, Stiles read the sign, Antique Coin Operated Arcade. No way! A goofy smile spread over his face.

       "I hear they have pinball. Highest score chooses lunch?” He winked, while opening the door for them. Stiles accepted that challenge enthusiastically. They walked inside and the distinct smell of lemon polish welcomed them. They parted ways at the entrance. Jackson went to grab change while he explored this place. Honestly, it was equal parts awesome and creepy. Antique dolls and puppets watched his every move. They were on the wall, inside the wooden and glass-encased games, and now in his nightmares. Not all of them were disturbing. Like the Classic Arm Wrestling game at the end of the aisle. He gasped, realizing why this place looked so familiar. They filmed The Princess Diaries here! (Yes, he watched it and loved every second.) Jackson found him some minutes later, gawking at the game.

       “What’s with your face?” He asked, holding a zip lock bag filled with quarters.

       “Julie Andrews touched that hand." He pointed to the plastic hand emerging from the square box "I’m not worthy enough to play. ”

       “You know, she’s not actually a queen right?”

       How dare he speak such words? Stiles shot him snide grimace. “Rude. She’s the queen of my childhood. Here, take a picture.” He demanded, tossing over his phone. Stiles stole the bag from his grasp, tearing it open with his teeth. _Bitch please;_ he thought when Jackson grumbled about germs. Sliding in a single quarter, he gripped the man’s cold plastic hand. Stiles, posing for the camera, missed the start of the game. Pushing with all his strength, he tried to pivot the game. His efforts were unsuccessful.

       Jackson howled with laughter as another shutter sound pierced the air. “I guess you really aren’t worthy.” He laughed, his shoulders quivering up and down. Fuming, he declared a do-over. Only there was now a line of people waiting for a turn. With each step towards the pinball machine, he bottled his frustration, saving it for the game. Jackson let him go first, since _he deserved all the advantage he can get._ Wrong move. Stiles took to Pinball like someone relearning the mechanics of a bike. After minor fumbling, he kicked ass. In the end, his score totaled 5 million. They might as well crown him the gaming god.

       Then, it was Jackson's turn. All smooth and collected, he parked in front of the game, cracking his knuckles. It's easy to forget actual skill lies under his pretty boy facade. He tracked his score rising exponentially. At 3 million, his first ball was still racketeering around the board. Stiles groaned, accepting his defeat. Guess they were having Chinese, Stiles sighed, as he reached 8 million. At the end of the game, his score totaled over 11 million.

        “You disgust me.” He said more impressed than irritated. Jackson preened smugly, since there wasn’t a modest bone in his body. “We’re eating Chinese aren't we?” He turned away from his smirking confirmation. Row by row, they tried all the games until their stomachs growled. Right now, even Chinese looked promising. He cast a final glance at the arcade as they stepped out into the blinding sun. Early morning Fisherman’s Wharf was nothing compared to this. Children running everywhere. There was a photo op every few feet. He kept close to Jackson to avoid running into people.

        “I would have thought you’d be used to this many people.” Jackson teased, guiding him through traffic by his hand. He laughed. The quiet life of Beacon Hills has turned him into a suburbanite. Hopping on the Cable Car, they decided to grab the Jeep from the hotel. Standing room only, Stiles shuffled to the back railing while fervently stripping out of the heated leather. His exposed skin cooled as his sweat mingled with the air. Now, he was content, unlike Jackson, who vibrated with unease. Probably a wolf thing. Poor baby, Stiles smirked, fitting his hidden hand around his waist. Jackson gave an audible sigh, leaning against the pressure. They stayed like that for the rest of the ride.

        The Cable Car let them and two other couples off a block from the hotel. Stiles wished they hadn’t checked out this morning. A quick nap sounded amazing. When they came into view, the same Valet dude from yesterday beamed at them and charted off with the Jeep’s keys.

        “You made an impression, I see.” Jackson said, as they waited for the Jeep under the Portico. He was just jealous. Stiles laughed.

        “That’s what happens when you look like me and cook like a beast.”

        “Erica made those.”

        “…And, I glazed them. Everyone knows Cinnamon Rolls without the glaze is just a funny-looking muffin.”

        “What? That makes no sense.” He argued back, sneering playfully at him. Were they seriously about to debate about the classification of Cinnamon roll? Yep, Stiles smirked at Jackson’s determined grimace. While they waited for the Jeep, they bickered back and forth, much to the gratification of the other two valet guys. Stiles enlisted their help, asking them to choose the right answer. Surprisingly, they all chose Jackson.

        “Oh come on now. You agree with that mess?!” They nodded their heads apologetically while Jackson basked in his victory. Not possible. Stiles wasn’t giving up. He waited patiently for his Jeep to glide in front of the hotel.

        “Here you go.” The guy strode over with the keys in his spotless white shirt.

        “Thanks.” Stiles looped the keys around his pointer finger. “Wanna settle something for us?” He took his friendly smile as a ‘yes.’ “Ok, so they think a Cinnamon Roll is just Cinnamon spiced bread formed into a roll.” He pointed a disgusted finger at Jackson and his band of wrong followers. “I say it’s not a Cinnamon Roll unless it’s smeared with gooey goodness.”

        “Oh you’re definitely right. Without glaze, it’s just bread. Or like a weird muffin.” He answered without thought. Stiles’s thoughts exactly.

        “Thank you!!” A wide smile took over his face as he clasped the guy on his back. “He knows what’s up. You should all follow his lead.”

        “We have to. He’s our supervisor.” The one marking on a dry ease board commented, keeping his eyes on his work.

        "Oh. Well, keep doing what you're doing then." They chuckled at him as Jackson forced him into the Jeep. Stiles waved goodbye to his new bro before pulling into traffic.

       “Decide where you want to eat yet?” He asked, shifting to face him at the red light. There was probably a Chinese restaurant on every street here. “What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing the slender grimace painted on his lips.

        “I just realized we have a paper due tomorrow and I haven’t even started the book.” That didn’t surprise Stiles at all. He  smiled, shaking his head. Without needing instructions, he headed for the highway. This time, he kept his eyes on the signs. Just over the bridge, they passed one that read: Beacon Hills 180 miles.

        He waited for the traffic to ease before digging in the backseat. Rummaging around the shopping bags, he freed his poor book bag. He grabbed their class’s book, _The Canterbury Tales_ , a notepad, a pen and tossed them into Jackson’s lap. His heart faltered at Jackson’s grateful smile. That annoying ‘L word’ from earlier flashed in his brain. “The required stories are marked.” Stiles leaned over to open the book to the Table of Contents. In class, he circled every story their teacher assigned within the last month. It was over one hundred pages of reading but Stiles has seen him skim _The Odyssey_ and emerge with a 95 on a pop quiz. “And, I finished my paper last night so ask me questions if you want.” He offered quietly, since Jackson was already six pages into his first tale. Stiles let him work, drumming his hands softly on the steering wheel for entertainment. A second later, Jackson played the Dan + Shay album, even though noise hindered his concentration. Stiles drove for miles with a goofy grin.

* * *

     

         "So...have you decided what to do?" Stiles filled the comfortable silence as they sat in front of Jackson's house, eating Chinese takeout. Every light downstairs shone through their sheer curtains, meaning only one thing. His parents were home and they most likely peeked out the windows a few times. "I mean- you can always come back to mine." He continued, when Jackson ignored his question. "Casa del Stilinski is always open to boyfriends with sexy buzz cuts." That got him to laugh. As if he'd forgotten about his hair, he ran his palm lightly over it.

           "You never told me what he said to you at brunch."  He murmured, staring up at the house. 

        "Not much more than you know really. Only that he and your birth dad hated each other. But, he still took you in when they passed away." Stiles omitted the part about this being his parents' original house. He'd never step through that door again. "Oh and that you have an aunt who gave birth to a shit ton of kids. I'm not sure about your grandparents. He mentioned them but, it was vague. Something about them being ill-fitted to raise a child. That could mean anything, really. They could be alive and incompetent. Or they could have passed away too. I'm not really sure." He was so busy rambling he almost missed his watery eyes. "Damn. I'm no good at this. I keep making you cry." Dropping his steamed rice container to the floor, Stiles leaned over the center console. He pressed his forehead lightly against Jackson's temple, kissing away any escaping tears. There should be a seminar somewhere on how to comfort loved ones. He'd take that class. "I'm sorry." He whispered, grazing his ear. 

         Jackson cleared his face as he chuckled. "Don't apologize. You're the only good thing about this." Though it didn't reach his eyes, his soft smile shot straight to Stiles's heart. "I should go."

         "Oh yeah-sure." He watched as he opened the door to gather his food, phone, wallet, and clothes from last night. 

         "You mind if I take this? Your notes actually help." Jackson held up the book, tucking it under his arm when he nodded. It's not like he'd need it before class. "Thank for this. I had fun.” He said, smiling into the open window. A movement in the front window caught his attention.

       “Your mom’s watching us.” He whispered into the space between them. 

        “I know. I hear her telling him they should buy you a safer car since I’ll be riding in it all the time.”

        “You know I could use a new transmission.” He retaliated, exploding in a fit of laughter. He decided Mrs. Whittemore was a good one. Her words were so motherly, only Whittemore edition. 

        “Cute. I’ll be sure to pass that along." He winked. "I should go before she comes out here." Stiles met him halfway for a goodbye kiss. The Whittemore's could wait. After a long moment, they parted with syrupy sweet grins. "See you tomorrow." Jackson made it halfway up the miniature hill when Stiles realized he left his bags.

        “Wait! You forgot your bags.” Stiles honked the horn, causing Jackson to swivel back, one eyebrow arched in confusion. He wildly gestured to the mountain of shopping bags in the backseat. Was he being intentionally obtuse?

        “Ohhh. Those.” Smirking deviously, he waved them away. “Yeah, they were too small. They're more your style anyway.” Stiles’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing Jackson bought them for him all along. He stared at the merchandise as if they’d explode at any second.

         “You asshole?!? I can’t accept this.” This was beyond the average gift. He spent four hundred dollars at Diesel alone. The only thing Jackson bought himself was the clothes on his back.

        “Goodnight Stiles.” He smiled softly before jogging up to the front door, leaving Stiles alone with all his new stuff. Incredulous. Shaking his head, he sped away from the house. Two stop signs from the house, his phone vibrated. Stiles waited until he parked to read the messages waiting for him.

 **Jackson:** Open the Target bag first.

        Sitting in the car, he rummaged through the stuff until he found the white plastic bag. A Garmin GPS System fell into his lap. 

 **Stiles:**  Ur ridiculous. I hate u.

 **Jackson:** No. You love me. We talked about this.

        Stiles almost forgot that conversation happened. Every time, they mention the L word, his body starts doing weird, inexpiable things. Like his heart beating uncontrollably and his blood warming. And, that horrible pang at the pit of his stomach. Stiles gulped, yeah, he didn’t want to mention the L word.

 **Stiles:**  Well I take it back

 **Jackson:**  Noooo but, I love you.

       Stiles gawked at the message without blinking at the fear that it would disappear. His heart kicked into overdrive, threatening to bust from his chest and take flight.He had to say something. Jackson was probably on the other end, fretting just like him. He typed a message without thinking about it.

 **Stiles:** I love me too ;) 

       Turning off his phone, he began the one of five trips lugging all his stuff into the house. And, Jackson said he wasn't perfect. Stiles still called bullshit. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this chapter so, I hope it shows. Is anyone else frantically getting ready for school? I'm supposed to move into my apartment on Friday and I barely started packing. Here I am writing fan-fiction. Can't you tell I have my priorities straight? lol
> 
> (I hope there weren't mistakes!) Anyway, thanks for reading!!! I adore your comments/ kudo-ing.


	12. Family.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately after the San Francisco trip.

       Jackson’s plan was simple. Slip through the front door. Close it softly. Steal upstairs and start on this ridiculous English assignment. Grinning, he exhaled as the door slid shut with the barest click. His smile wavered when he heard his mom's teakettle whistle on the stove. She only drank tea after an argument. His smile wavered. They seemed perfectly normal when he eavesdropped outside. _Whatever_ , he shrugged. He decided their shit wasn’t his problem anymore. He’d ignore them just as they did him.

       “Jackson. Come here," His father insisted before his foot graced the first step. He cursed. So much for his good mood. He reversed his steps, stalking into the living room. Resembling the _perfect_ family portrait, his father waited poised in his armchair while his mother read the latest Nicholas Sparks’ novel on the couch. He felt the strongest urge to gripe something mouthy. Like ‘spoiler alert: someone dies.’ He refrained, not wanting to deal with her askance for days.

       “How was San Francisco?” His dad asked, tossing his newspaper on the table. Was that supposed to intimidate him? Casually, as he stuffed one hand into his jeans pocket, Jackson quirked an eyebrow.

       “Good.” He responded, growing more aggravated by the second.

       “Nice haircut.”

       “I thought so. Can you just tell me what you want? I have a paper to write.”

       The eerily grin plastered on his dad’s face brought a violent shiver over his body. “An anonymous source has informed the press of our little debacle. As you can imagine, this will hinder my campaign for Governor if we don’t take preemptive measures. My PR team has drafted a plan that involves the entire family.”

        “Family?” He scoffed, chuckling at the absurdity. He should have known not to expect an apology or even an explanation. “Count me out then.”

        “Jackson. Don’t be naïve. The facts haven’t changed. Your mother and I adopted you. End of story. You’re just like every other adoption kid who thirst to know his or her real heritage. Well, there you go. You’re a Whittemore. Mystery solved.”

        “EXCEPT YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THAT UNTIL YOU HAD TO!” He erupted. His clenched fist ached for contact. To blow a hole in their _“seashell white”_ walls. Or his dad’s amused smirk. Anything that would help abate the pounding in his head. He settled for Scott’s trick, puncturing his own palms and wiping the residual blood on his darkened jeans. “You let me walk around here… miserable for years," he muttered.

        “Miserable?” his dad cackled, ruffling his paper. "Jackson, you drive a Porsche. Your bedroom is larger than my office.” He opened his mouth in objection and only air released. With another chortle, his father continued. “Shall I keep going? You have that dog that still, to this day, urinates on your mother’s carpet. Unlimited money supply and a boyfriend, despite my better judgment, by the way.”

        “Don’t talk about-”

       “Shh. I’m speaking. Your life is better than most of the hormonal-ridden teenagers in this world and if you want to keep it that way, you’ll shut up, sit down, and cooperate. Or, I’m going to strip away all those things you love until you actually understand misery, starting with that boy of yours. Have I made myself clear?”

          “Yes.” Grumbling, he jerked down in the nearest chair.

       “Excellent.” His dad smirked triumphantly as he crossed one leg over the other. “Now. Our first step is being photographed **as a family**. After school tomorrow, I’ll have a driver pick you up from the house at 4pm sharp. We’re having dinner with Mayor Hilden and his family in the city. Dress better than you did a few days ago.”

          “Don’t talk about a few days-”

        He steamrolled over his words as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Several reporters will visit you during lunchtime for the next few days. Only the approved ones will see you. I have arranged this with the school. They have an approved list of questions and upstairs, you will find an approved list of answers. I want my constituents to fall for your charm. People are drawn to attractive, honorable young men. You need to be a role model for their sons and the boy they want to date their daughters.”

          “I’m not dating anybody’s daughter; I’m with Stiles.”  

        “Yeah…well no one needs to know that.” Snarling, he jumped up. The hell if he was going ignore Stiles just for this asshole’s sake. “Sit down. Let me finish. I was going to say later down the line, maybe we can work it in. But for now, my campaign endorsements are as conservative as they come and I need their support.”

          “And, why should I do any of this?”

         “Because, I’m your father. Whether you agree with that statement or not, I have taken care of you your entire life. Anything you’ve wanted, I’ve provided. Including the five thousand dollars, you spent this past weekend. So sometimes we make sacrifices even when we don’t want to.”

          “Like you did with me?”

          “Exactly.” 

       They glared at one another, willing the other to surrender. He never loathed someone as he did in this moment. Not even the psycho lunatic that controlled him and made him kill people for petty revenge. And, he saw that kid everyday on the lacrosse field. What’s worse? His dad knew he would concede. Especially with the threat of Stiles in the air. He’d complete the interviews and the dinner and it would be over. It’s not as if they’re into PDA anyway, sans the parking lot situation. “Fine but leave Stiles the hell alone.”

         “You have my word.” He awarded him a faux smile, as if Jackson was the difficult one in this situation. He returned to his newspaper, signaling the end of the conversation. “Oh, and one more thing. Also upstairs is a manila folder. It contains the history and every person attached to the Whittemore namesake. Yes, my brother and his wife are in there.” He extended him palm, halting his next question. “Read those pages. Study them. I need you knowledgeable on the Whittemore legacy. That is all.” He shifted his focus back to his paper, meaning Jackson was free to go. 

         His room was as he left it, thankfully. Toeing off his shoes, he sped across the room and dumped his belongings in a loose pile on the shag carpet. As expected, a thick folder laid sealed on top of his laptop. Inside of that folder lied all the answers. Yet, he couldn’t open it. Sitting in his swivel chair, the pads of his fingers slithered over the surface. All he had to do was rip the seam. The vibration of his cellphone derailed his thoughts.

        “Hey.” He greeted Danny without even looking at his phone’s display.

         “Why did Stiles have to inform me that my best friend was home from his Sacramento getaway?” For someone who wiped away his tears not 48 hours ago, Danny sounded awful chipper.

        “Actually, it was San Francisco and I was going to call you after I finished my paper. Impatient.” He grinned, shaking his head, as he often did when Danny was involved.

         “Save it, pretty boy. You gallivanted around San Francisco without me? Hotel?”

         “Ritz Carlton.”

         He gasped much to Jackson’s amusement. Here goes the antics. “Shut up! You never took me to a Ritz Carlton.”

          “That’s cause I took you to a Four Seasons… in Budapest.”

        “True.” Danny chuckled, sighing nostalgically. “Still, I’m jealous. I spent way too much time at Derek’s cleaning and mopping and sweeping until he was satisfied. And, let me tell you. There was a lot of knee action and not the good kind either.” They laughed until soft exhales filled the air between them. “How goes the home front?” Danny inquired, his tone sobered.

          “Sucks. Come over?”

          “I thought you had a paper.” Danny laughed. The sound of his front door closing in the background cheered his dismal mood some.

          “I do.” He quipped back, with his infamous ‘an-your-point-is’ tone. Danny chuckled, pulling out of his driveway. They talked about San Francisco during his five-minute drive. Once Jackson realized he wasn’t escaping the pervasive question, he decided to relay the entire trip. He started with the car ride and ended with returning to his house, affording even the microscopic details. Like where he spent two thousand dollars on Stiles’s new clothes. Per Danny’s request, he listed each store and item he brought Stiles. When he smoothed over their love declarations, Danny nearly toppled Mr. Kilpatrick’s brick mailbox across the street. Bursting with laughter, he peeked through the blinds for the full showing. By the time Danny stumbled into his room, with Percy on his heels, his abs muscled tugged from the workout.

         “You’re welcome for that btw. He made lunch out of Tessa’s new pair of Toms.”

        “I’ll buy her more. Hey buddy.” He smiled down at his pooch; the poor dog endured the wrath of Danny’s sister for two days. He nuzzled back against his wet nose, accepting the hysterical love.

          “I love how you’re more excited to see him than me.” Dan declared, sprawled across his king-sized bed. Pillows muffled his voice.

         “You know what they say... man’s best friend.” He winked, chuckling. Danny chucked one of his useless throw pillows his way.  Laughing, he ducked and the hard fluff smacked against the blinds with a crash.          

            “Hilarious. I see why Stiles _loves_ you.”

            “Don’t even start.” He tried to hide the wide, goofy smile on his face but Danny caught him.

          “How are you this far gone? It’s been what, like a few weeks, at best. Ethan and I have been together for months and I don’t even smile…like whatever that is.” He gestured with his keys to his growing smile and crinkled eyes.

            “Shut up. It’s not a big deal.”

           “Mhmm. How many years were you with Lydia? Not one I love you. Just remember who fixed you up in the first place. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be bickering back and forth like a pair of sexually repressed geeks."  True. He shrugged. " What’s that?” Danny pointed to the folder flipping in palms. “You gotta package?”

            “No. Just some stuff he left for me. I’ll look at it later.”

            “Jackson…”

             He hated that soft ‘talk to me’ tone. “It has info on my parents inside.”

         “What?! Open it.” Suddenly interested in the topic change, Danny slid over the covers to reach the desk. They stared at the package, neither daring to break the confidentiality seal. “Come on, aren’t you curious?”

            “I don’t see you touching it.” He snapped playfully. Danny, snickering at his tone, plucked the envelope from his hands. With precision, he pealed open the saliva-sealed flap. The sound of ripping paper rang loud in his ears. “Aww, they’re like trading cards with headshots and stats.” He thumbed through the laminated cardstock with a warm smile. Intrigued, he reached out for thenm but Danny snatched it from it's gras.  “Nope. A paragraph for a picture.” He winked, stretching his body back over the bed. He growled playfully at his coy attitude. “And here. A freebie to get you started.” Danny whipped one of the pages, sending it hurling through the air. He snatched it swiftly, the portrait of a twenty-something guy facing him. Although he sported a natural tan Jackson never accomplished, a few of their features favored. Same texturally soft dark brown hair. Weird defined nose. His cousin beamed at the camera. Even through the photo, his smile felt contagious. Uncomfortable, he flipped over the cardstock to peruse the various facts. _Leal Marks, 25, Paris Kentucky._ That explained his thin layer of stubble and worn threadbare blue shirt.

            “Never thought you’d be related to hot hillbillies from Kentucky.” Danny joked, pronouncing ‘Ken-Tuck-Key’ in a butchered country accent.

           “They're not hillbillies.” He agreed with the Kentucky part, though. He always figured anyone with the Whittemore namesake was wealthy, pompous, and living high in the city.

            “Whatever you say, city mouse. Get to work.”

          “Fine. If I finish in thirty, you give me the whole thing.” With matching smirks, they shook on it and he hopped to work. Using Stiles’s notes and the reading material so fresh, he could knock an essay out in twenty-five if he pushed himself hard enough. Danny, already preoccupied with napping on Percy, buried the envelope under their bodies. Shaking his head, he opened a new document. Taking one last look at his cousin’s picture, his fingers slapped against the keyboard.

       Twenty-eight minutes later, the clock struck 9:43. Danny, seconds from sleep, slid the envelope across the bed. He smiled triumphantly, tearing through the various photos. Were his dads’ identical twins? With a relieved smile, he sent Stiles a picture of each one of his family members. An hour later, Stiles sent him an entire novel in response.

**Omg. He gave you this? There is a god. I’m smiling so hard right now like they’re really my family lol. Your mom was super pretty. Like supermodel pretty and woah… ur dad was kinda scary looking. No offense. He’s like the burly man you see on the street and you wanna switch sides but then he gives his lunch to a homeless woman with a sincere smile and it makes you coo. Is it weird that I just made up a whole scenario about your dad cause it’s so vivid. I could write a book haha. Danny already told me about your hillbilly cousins. Not that I think they’re hillbillies. I expected more than four, like nine or some outrageous number. They’re hot tho. Well not Ezra, the 15 yr old cause that’s weird. But the guy our age, Adrien? Yumm lol. *wink* He looks like the country version of you. Its wigging me out. Maybe, I’ll look him up on facebook. I already know the oldest one is Danny’s favorite. Stereotypically attractive. He would drop Ethan for Leal in a heartbeat. Am I rite? Jessica looks like a lot of work. Also your aunt is adorably fun sized. They must get the height from their dad. Ok I think im done lol.**

         He reread the massive text three times, having lost his place multiple times. Jackson pictured him enthusiastically revolving in his desk chair while his nimble fingers ripped over his screen. He thought of a response while he prepped for bed, changed, and pushed Danny over. Percy crawled to the foot of the bed without instruction. Lying in bed, with the lights off, he typed his response.

_Lol yeah he drooled all over his picture lol. I thought the same bout my dad too. We share the same menacing eyebrows. **> :[** That’s us judging you for telling me about your disgusting Adrien fantasies. Stay away from him! He couldn’t handle you._

**And you can?**

_Last night you seemed to think so._

**Lmfao touché. We ever going to talk about that?**

_Whats there to talk about?_

**I don’t know. Maybe you mumbling ‘I can’t do this to u stiles’ the entire time. What were u not supposed to be doing to me that you did anyway?  Not that im complaining. AT. ALL.**

_Can we talk bout this when Danny’s not passed out next to me?_

**Uh huh -_- Fine. How’s home?**

          He thought about whether to inform Stiles of his father’s plan. He decided against it.

_Nothing I can’t handle. I’m exhausted. See you tomorrow?_

**Duh. Enjoy your extra hour of sleep. NO PRACTICE!**

**Love you.**

_Lol yeah love you too._

           Apparently, it’s a thing they say all the time now. He was cool with that. Flipping over, he drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

 

       The next day, he swiveled into his usual parking space at school. He knew reporters were amongst the crowds, before he stepped out the Porsche. They bombarded him with questions and pictures as he walked across the concrete. “Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.” They called out to him, in exclamations, their lights flashing in his peripheral. Crime and injustice permeated through this country and they chose his life to document. Fucking pathetic. With his nose twisted in the air, he pushed past them, as his classmates looked on curiously. 

        Scott, who hopped off his motorbike at the same time, waited for him on the steps of main entrance. With his angry puppy face, as Danny liked to call it, Scott glowered at the reporters scurrying behind him. Without a word, he nodded to Jackson and followed him into the building, creating a physical barrier between them and him.

       “Thanks.” He offered him once the doors sealed them inside. The gratitude swished awkwardly  in his mouth, at least in reference to McCall. He grinned back kindly before bouncing away, probably in search of Stiles. He continued his own hunt for Stiles, hoping to reach him before Scott did. Tearing through the halls, he ignored his classmates' gossiping buzz by searching for Stiles in all favorite spots. His locker. The cushioned bench outside third floor bathroom. Their table in the library. The picnic areas. No luck. He wasn’t in their first period class either. Around the second class, when no one heard from him, he started to worry. The last time this happened, he pummeled some loud schmuck’s face.

        “Mr. Whittemore. Do you need to see the nurse? You’re shaking.” His teacher called, in the middle of his lecture. The entire class feasted their eyes on his desk as his teeth chattered. The weight of Boyd's alert glower burned in his head.

       Knowing he'd tell Derek, Jackson still accepted the out. “Feel better. Homework is Chapter 9 and all the odd numbered problems.” Giving his teacher a succinct nod, he seized his hall pass. He caught Boyd’s disapproving headshake before the door closed.

         Pocketing the flimsy blue paper, he roamed the halls for a while, debating on whether he should call Stiles again. Ducking into the closest bathroom, he dialed him one more time. Sliding down to the hopefully clean floor, he promised this was the last time he’d call him.

         “Hey. You’ve reached Stiles. Sorry, I’m eating curly fries right now. Leave a message.”

       Despite the situation, he chuckled. Last week, he was “surfing” and the week before that “writing the greatest novel ever.” At least, this time, it was something he actually did on a daily basis. A message from Stiles, popped up, as he was drafting his own.

**I’m not ignorin u. Stuck in ISS. No phones.**

_WTF? Why r you in In School Suspension?_

**Some parent reported my “lewd behavior” @ the game. Got it 4 three days.**

_Fuck that. Just leave._

**N get actually suspended? Nope. My dad’s already pissed I lied about bruises**

_They told your dad???_

**Duh. He’s the sheriff.**

**Oh shit. Hold up. The teacher's back**

         At the same time, a panting kid burst through the door, barely balancing a hefty collection of textbooks and loose papers in his arms. The frazzled look in his eyes told him someone gave this kid a solid wrestle. He eyed Jackson with fear that he’d do the same. Jackson rolled his eyes, as if he’d waste energy on some frightened loser. He lifted his feet, allowing him to pass.  “You gonna use it or what?” He asked, swiping his hand at the wide open door. The boy, quaking under his calm tone, squeezed all of his shit into a stall. Jackson snickered, shaking his head. His phone vibrated, signaling Stiles’s return.

**Ok. I’m back. Grounded for 1 week. That’s not so bad. ISS blows!**

_How bad?_

**The dude nxt 2 me reeks of beef jerky n pickles.**

_ALOL_

**Haha hes rancid. What are u doin?**

_Sitting on a disgusting bathroom floor talking to you_

**eww go to class. one of us should**

_Nope. I’m striking._

**lol no ur using me as an excuse to be a slacker.**

_Maybe a little ;) Let’s do something after school_

**Did u not see the whole grounded thing?**

_Like you’ve never snuck out. We’ll go somewhere private_

**Nowhere in BHills is private to cops.**

_Downtown is._

**True… but can u rly call it that if its a few abandon buildings, 3 antique shops, a "square", and a McDonalds? No one goes there but the elderly**

_Stiles. That’s the point._

**… Pick me up at the park by my house @ 4**

_Yes sir._

**Don’t text me anymore. Hes confiscating phones now**

_Yes sir._

**lol take your cute ass to class**

_ugh if I must. Love you._

**You too**

        He smirked. That was never getting old. Peeling himself off the floor, he dusted away the microscopic bacteria from his jeans. Before slinking off to English, he decided to call his dad’s office, knowing he wouldn’t pick up his cell. All he needed was confirmation that they weren’t involved with Stiles’s detainment.

          “Lt. Governor’s office. This is Shelley speaking.” Of course, he rolled his eyes. This fake bitch has been kissing his father’s ass since his first campaign, five years ago. It doesn’t surprise him that she’s his assistant now.

           “Shelley. It’s Jackson. Patch him through please.” He tried for kind and professional.

           “Jackson!” She squealed in that cutesy excitement of hers. It was as fake as her bottled-blond hair. “It’s been awhile.”

           “It has. Patch him through.”

           “Your father is in a meeting.”

           “Really, cause this morning, he seemed excited that his schedule was free and clear.” He was dating the king of sarcastic sass. He could do this all-freaking day.

         “I know why you’re calling Jackson and you have the right to be angry but it was for the best.” She stated succinctly, her complacent tone evaporated. “This way you’re not tempted.”

         “So you did do it?” He growled, displaying his true nature too. They had a deal. He’d cooperate if they’d stayed away from Stiles and his father.

          “Jackso-”

         “Listen bitch. I said I’d do this, didn’t I? Fix this or those annoying ass reporters you sent over will really love me. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my father.” A group of basketball players heard him retort as they poured into the restroom. He flicked his head at them in greeting, but also as a warning to keep walking.

         “It’s already done. Don’t poke the beast, Jackson.”

        “I’d take your own advice, _Shelley_. Tell my father to have a successful dinner tonight. I won’t be attending.” He hissed, slamming his thumb over the red circle, stopping whatever empty threat she prepared for him. With his heart pumping and his vision red, he nearly marched to the principal’s office and blurted every secret his dad wanted covered up. That’s what they were probably preparing for, zipping around and planning _another_ plan of attack. Then, a devious thought occurred to him. What if he did the opposite of what they anticipated? Instead of spilling everything, he said absolutely nothing instead. With a sinister sneer, he carried on with daily life. He turned in his essay, captained the wining dodge ball team in gym, and collaborated with Isaac on an easy chem lab. When the lunch bell ripped through the halls, he and Isaac strutted right past the principal’s office, where they anxiously awaited his arrival.

         “You know they’re practically chanting your name in there, right?” Isaac inquired, craning his ear toward the enthusiastic anticipation buzzing behind those walls.

         “Uuh huh.” He shrugged, gripping the dangling strings of his book bag.

          Isaac spared him only one questioning glance before shrugging his own shoulders. “Okay. I hope they have pizza today.”

          “Yeah. Me too.” And, they followed the flow of traffic into the double doors of the café. 

 

* * *

        It took his dad four hours to personally call him. He and Stiles were in their first antique shop. This one specialized in porcelain figurines. His phone vibrated violently in his pocket. He sent it to voicemail as he laughed at the doll Stiles held. His father continued calling him back, pestering him to the point where Stiles noticed.

       “You should get that.” Stiles poked his pocket, drawing his eyes over the tight- fitting gray sweater jacket and jeans he brought him in San Francisco. 

       “I just realized you’re wearing your new clothes.” He smiled smugly at his polished look while caressing the hem of the soft threads. He felt comfortable enough to kiss him behind the dense shelf of ballet figurines. Stiles rolled into him, melding under his touch. He kept it chaste since the kind shop owner kept peaking over at them.

       “You’re stalling. Go.” Stiles whispered against his lips, grinning softly. “It could be an emergency.” He scoffed. Yeah right. _He didn’t know the whole story._ He complied anyway, nudging his nose against his cheek, before taking the call outside.

       “What.” He barked into the mouthpiece. His breath turned to vapor in the frisky cold.

       “Why didn’t you partake in the interviews? Or dinner? We had an agreement.” The infuriating tone of his father’s voice curdled his stomach.

        “There is no agreement. You said you’d stay away from him.”

        “I did what I felt was best. I’ve seen how you get around him. Do you really believe you could have resisted him while we dealt with this?”

        “Yes!” He growled with a locked jaw. A middle-aged couple, strolling passed, eyed him with a mixture of concern and skepticism. He quirked an irritated brow at them, until they moved along. “It was over with and now you’ve fucked up his permanent record. Even Coach, forgot about it and he almost cost us the game.” Breathing heavily, they both stewed in their own opinion for a long, still moment. This morning, when his father sat a plate of eggs and bacon in front of them, he almost believed the façade. Once they’d endured all the press and the campaign of doom, things would change for the better. His father played him because he was naïve. Even after all of this, a part of him held blind loyalty to the man who gave him every toy he wanted. “Why can’t we just be normal?” He susurrated, suddenly tired of their unremitting disputes.

        His dad sighed exasperatedly. “We’re not playing this game, Jackson. You live under my roof which means you do as I say.”

        “And if I don’t?” He gritted.

        “You see how easy it was for me to touch him. One phone call is all it took. The Stilinskis are good people but I won’t hesitate to use them, if it comes to it. And that’ll be on your conscience. Not mine.” His voice disappeared from the line, leaving him gawking down at his screen. Gahhh, he wanted to pierce the air with a growl. He was infuriating, somehow blaming him for this whole thing. The heavy pull in his stomach told him Stiles was standing behind him, just outside the store’s door. Swiveling cautiously, he faced, for the first time, an irate Stiles. 

        With flared nostrils, he glowered motionlessly. His eyes pinned Jackson into place. He’d suffer through Lydia’s livid screeching and hard ass punches than endure another second of Stiles’s inaudible malice.

        “Stiles… I swear I had nothing to do with it.” He took one brave step forward, reaching out to stop him from escaping. Stiles sidestepped his advances fluidly, stalking away from the store and charging down the street. With a heavy heart, he trudged after him, making sure to stay away back.

        “Bullshit.” Stiles muttered to himself, punting a rock every few feet. With every hushed obscenity, the force of the rock increased. He gave him time to blow off steam, quietly deciphering his intones. “Thought I convinced him.” The rock flew a few feet ahead of him. “God. I want him to **burn.** ” He struck the rock so hard; it soared into the Gun Shop’s dangling wooden sign. The piercing sound of split wood brought a sprint to their feet. He pulled Stiles into a thin alleyway before Mr. Copeland, the belligerent storeowner, split from the store, clutching his favorite shotgun.

         “Listen to me.” He pleaded, seizing his arm and pulling him behind the industrial dumpster. Disgusting as it was, the dumpster cloaked their bodies, shielding them from prying eyes. Gradually, he crept forward until Stiles’s spine compacted with the wall. Still, Stiles wouldn’t look at him. “Yes, he reported you because of me. I’m sorry. I didn’t know until after we talked and I should have told you.”

          “Why?” He muttered, shifting away so their chests weren’t touching. Taking the hint, he took several steps back.

          “Short version. While we were gone, someone leaked the big news to the press. Most likely Peter but it doesn’t really matter.”

          “Explains why you’re so shifty today. Paparazzi?”

          “I’m not important enough for paparazzi but yes. His office made this big plan to save his reputation and they roped me into helping out. They see us as a threat so they kind of… eliminated you. I had nothing to do with it. You have to believe me.” He pleaded, aching to touch him. With pursed lips, Stiles squinted at him, clearly either not believing him or not wanting to. He tried one more time. “He promised to stay away from you if I cooperated.”

          He scoffed at him in pity. “Yeah. Well, he didn’t so thanks for that.” Stiles slithered away, heading back towards the main street. Yet, he turned around expectantly, as if they were still hanging out. Confused, he followed him out. They faced the forbidden town’s square, in which only a few people occupied. “I’m pretty sure that’s a paparazzo guy. He’s been staring at us forever.” Pointing wildly to a man across the street, Stiles forgot the meaning of subtlety. Only certain people visit the town square across the street: the elderly and the rare visitor. Everyone knows the timeless tale of Old Man Beacon, a man with an insatiable appetite for local children. It’s silly but, til this day, he hasn’t stepped foot in the square. The second he glimpsed russet-colored hair matted down by a tattered billed cap and a clichéd pair of aviator sunglasses, he knew he was stepping foot in the square today.

          “Stay here.” He barked at Stiles in an unintentionally rude tone as he darted through coming traffic. Of course, Stiles followed him. So attuned to this man’ familiar features, he ignored his boyfriend’s plea to slow down. He had to know if this smirking dude was him.

          Lounging against the bench with a practiced smile that displayed the slight gap between his front teeth, he tracked Jackson’s fervor towards him. He stopped at the bench, speechless, begging words to spill from his mouth. He peered up at him, curving one smooth eyebrow over the rim of his mirrored sunglasses. Jackson’s breath caught as he reached to remove his glasses. Seeing his eyes, illuminated with grays and blues, confirmed the pulling instinct inside of him.

          “L...Leal?” He stammered awkwardly, for the first time in years.

          “Cousin.” He beamed, his rich southern accent as smooth as butter sliding over a warm biscuit. Jackson blanched. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Seriously. Thanks for sticking with me even after my mini hiatus. Thoughts? How are you liking the Jackson POV? I can switch back to Stiles if you prefer. It's all about you guys. =D 
> 
> Like, I said earlier, another chapter will be posted within a few hours. Just a few formatting technicalities and such.


	13. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were only joking around and now its come true.

        “Cousin.” Leal greeted him, rocking a mischievous smile and damn…that southern accent smacked him right in the face. He can imagine the number of girls that slow sonorous drawl of his scored him in the past. “Mom was right. Y’all look just alike.” He figured Y’all meant him and Adrien. He’s heard that from every person who’s seen the photos, i.e. the entire pack (sans Peter.) Already, he felt their identities melding into one. Rolling his eyes, he opened his mouth.

        “What are you doing here?” The question flew from his mouth. He groaned. Even when he was trying not to be a dick, he was a dick.Despite his vulgarity, Leal chuckled lowly, his broad shoulders vibrating in sync with his laughter.

        “Beats me.” He responded, shrugging. “You only ask questions if you wanna get popped.” Leal’s eyes brightened like a kid telling his first joke. Lowering down beside him cautiously, Jackson grinned. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t creepin. You caught me being los-”

        “Fuck…you run fast when you want to. What the hell, Jacks?!” Haggard and irritated, Stiles prevented Leal from finishing his statement. As if they planned it, their heads pivoted in his direction with dual raised brows. Stiles reared back at the image of them, sitting side by side. “Holy hillbilly. I’m mean-not hillbilly. I have nothing against hillbillies. Not that you’re a hillbilly. I mean- wow. Hi.” He blushed with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. For the first time since their scuffle, Stiles actually resembled himself. Jackson tossed an amused smile between the two of them.

        “I’m Leal, Jackson’s cousin.” His cousin offered his hand for Stiles to shake, wearing a softer smile than the one he offered Jackson.

        “I know. I’m Stiles. Jackson’s…” They both froze. Stiles looked to him for directions but he wasn’t broaching that subject even if someone pointed a gun at his temple. He frowned when Stiles settled on. “…friend.”

         “Well, friend. Nice to meet ya.” He grinned, shooting Jackson a discreet judging look. “Like I was telling my cousin here, I didn’t mean to pop in like this. Had it all planned out but my GPS got lost findin the hotel and I was asking around for directions but apparently the hotel shut down some months ago and then I plopped down to search for  **another**  hotel and there you were.”

         “Small town.” Stiles burst into a fabricated chuckle, making him wince. Whatever was angering him earlier still triggered at his mind. He tried making eyes with him but Stiles avoided his gaze instead deciding to focus on his cousin. “Still looking for a hotel?”

         “Yeah. Got any good ones?” Leal questioned, watching their interactions with calculation.

         “Yep. It’s called Derek’s House. I’ll make the call.” Stiles declared, already yanking his phone from his back pocket and striding towards the tree a few feet away. He thought an awkward silence might settle over them. Thankfully, Stiles returned before that happen. “Yeah… he hung up before I could ask but I texted Isaac so let’s hope he’s cooperating tonight. Don’t worry.” He responded to Leal’s knitted expression. “Derek will like you. You’re actually his age. He doesn’t come across too many of those. So, hungry?” The words spilt from his mouth in rapid succession but somehow Leal kept up with the conversation. They forgot his existence once Leal expressed an interest in burgers. Leaving him to follow behind as they trekked to the McDonalds, he texted Danny.

 **McDnlds on main.**   **Now.**

         He dreaded the idea of spending an entire meal listening to Stiles and Leal bond, while Stiles passive-aggressively avoided him. This way, he’d have Danny to keep him company. The three ellipses, signaling Danny’s response, toggled on and off as he typed and deleted.

_Y?_

**Come and see.**

_Thought u were with Stiles_

**I am. He’s being weird.**

_Its Stiles. Weird is him. Don’t wanna third wheel._

**You won’t be. Just come.**

_I’m bringing someone_

**ugh whatever. I’ll pay if you get here in 10.**

_Challenge accepted._

          “Who’s that? Danny?” He snapped up at the sound of Stiles actually talking to him. Trying to peep at his phone, Stiles held the wooden door for him.

          “Yeah. Are we good?” He slipped the phone in his back pocket. He brushed his hand over his waist subtly as they both stepped inside. The soothing heat of McDonalds greeted them, even as the blatant stares didn’t.

          “Leal grabbed the round booth in the back. Figured you’d invite him.” Stiles breezed over his question; yet, he leaned against the pressure of his hand before placing distance between them again. “How cool is him being here right?”

           “Stiles…” He resigned, growing tired of this little game. A few eyes from the closest tables lingered on their conversation, or lack of thereof. “I already said I’m sorry for something I had nothing to do with.”

         “I’m gonna go order. What do you want? Grilled Chicken Club with no tomato, a side salad, and a bottled water?” He asked, rambling off his usual whenever they do wind up here.

            Frustrated, he stormed away without answering. None of this was his freaking fault. And, yet still, he apologized. Slumping down on the empty booth bench, he succumbed to his anger. For whatever reason, watching Leal beam down at his phone, irritated him further. “Why are you here?” He demanded, slapping his hand onto the semi-clean table. A minute frown passed over Leal’s face before he masked it with a smile. They also shared the same short fuse. Good to know.

        “I told you I haven’t a clue. She asked me to visit for a few days. So here I am.”

      “She meaning my aunt, right? All these years of nothing and now you wanna stroll in here as if we’re brothers. Fuck that. Give me a reason.” His fist smacked against the table, causing the condiments and napkin holder to rattle. Leal watched him with a new wariness, his carefree smile evaporating from his face.

       “Look kid-” He paused, clearly taking a much-needed breath. The crackling tension whipping around their booth separated them from the rest of the restaurant. “I’m twenty-five years old. I have a job and a pregnant fianceé. You think I would show up for shits and giggles. No but I don’t ask cause in our house; you do first and ask later. If you want to know, call and ask yourself. Yeah?” Reluctantly, Jackson agreed, falling back against the seat.“Good. Now, I can tell you she’s come here before. Once when I was little, like seven or eight. My mom and your dad…well real dad were tight. Y’all used to visit like every month, you know before the accident. When they died, mom was so colossal with Ezra, he’d slide right onto the carpet if she stood up.”

        “That’s disgusting.” His nose curled up at the image of caking blood staining their carpet with gooey red. Oh god, an intense shiver crawled through his body, starting from his head and working its way to his curled toes. Leal, back to his charismatic disposition, chortled.  

         “Just tellin it like it is. Ezra’s a big kid. About to turn sixteen and…” His eyes scanned the restaurant, searching for a height comparison. “maybe an inch shorter than Stiles.”  _Jeesh._  He spared a glance at Stiles waiting in line, though it stung to look at him. “Anyway, she tried comin for you after he was born. I remember them fighting in the living room about not being able to support another little one. It didn’t matter. She came back empty-handed. Your dad must have stopped all contact with us because I never saw you again. Until now of course.”

        “We’re here. Nine minutes from Derek’s. Impressive. I know.” Focused on his phone, Danny saddled over to the table. Isaac was absently caressing his growling stomach behind him. He should have seen this coming; he never turned down free food. Instead of asking him to scoot, Danny shoved him deeper into the booth. “Stiles, what did this idiot do to piss you…ahh, you are not Stiles.” Finally, he tore his eyes away from his phone to witness the power of Leal’s alluring beam. Jackson knew his best friend well. He caught his heavy-lidded interest before he transformed it into an affable smile. “Kentucky?” Danny dimpled, directing his bewildered question towards him.

          “Don’t look at me.” Jackson shrugged his shoulders just as mystified as Danny and Isaac. “He was chilling in the square when we found him.”

          Isaac gasped. “You stepped into the square?” He asked, putting space between them as if Old Man Beacon would chomp on him by association.

         “Oh my god. Seriously, you two still believe in that crap?” Danny rolled his eyes before launching into a quick history lesson for Leal. “Richard Beacon or Old Man Beacon, as we like to call him, was stoned to death by some kids in the square way back when. So legend has it that if you’re under eighteen and step foot into the square, he’ll act his revenge on you. It’s just another way to explain all the odd disappearances and deaths in this town. Hey. I’m Danny, by the way, this fool’s best friend.”

          “Non-believers die first.” Isaac clucked his teeth while grinning at Danny.

        “Good thing I wasn’t in this square then, huh?” Danny chimed, playfully sneering back at him. Jackson glanced back in forth between them, bemused at their new extra friendly dynamic.

          They smirked at each other, oddly before Isaac focused on Leal. “I’m Isaac. Leal right? Jackson has been-”

         “Nope. Not happening. Here.” All it took was bestowing his credit card upon them and they rushed to join Stiles. They observed the three of them cause ruckus at the counter for a moment. It’s the first time he experienced their antics as an outsider. A shadow drifted over his relaxed expression.

        “I like your friends.” Leal reeled him away from his thoughts. He fiddled with the frayed edges of his ball cap in his hands when Jackson returned his attention back to him.

         “Yeah…well you won’t say that when you meet all of them.” He griped, only half joking. Leal chuckled as if he cracked the world’s greatest joke. With their previous conversation over, he was at a loss for a new conversation. What does one talk about with a cousin they haven’t seen in sixteen years?

           “Can I offer you some old person advice? It’s probably off base but I don’t think so.”

           “You’re not old.” He quipped back, jokingly. Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned in to their conversation.

           “Older than you.” He cracked back with a wink. His cousin mirrored his stance, pressing his own elbows into the table as if ready to share a juicy secret. Subconsciously, he fidgeted in the booth; his fingers rearranged the lousy jumble of the napkin dispenser, the salt, and the pepper.

            “What’s your sage advice, then?”

          “You give somebody control over you and they’ll always have it.” Stunned, he reared back, knocking his head against the wooden divider separating them from the next family. Leal, holding his palm up, stopped him from refuting his implications. “I put two and two together but that’s not the point. The point is your dad doesn’t have to ruin your relationship cause you’re doin it for him. I know because it almost happened to me. Only I plucked my head from my ass before it was too late. Just think about it.” Rapping his knuckles on the table, he grinned solemnly before joining the others.

           With Leal’s words replaying in his head, he watched him swagger to the others in faded wrangler jeans and scuffed work boots. He could sit here and loathe his existence for insinuating the problem was his fault. However, his words registered as true. He and Stiles were great until he let his dad screw with his head. He didn’t give a shit about his election. Just as his dad didn’t give a shit about him until it almost cost him his precious job. God, he was so stupid, he thought, letting a cold panic seize him. The sound of crackling paper and laughter brought him registered in his mind. In their absence, they gained McCall, which was a trillion times better than Erica or Lydia, not that he’d ever admit that. His gaze trained on Stiles, laughing at Leal’s lively story as he led the group back. In those long fingers, lay a tray with only their food. That was a positive sign right?

           “And then the foal sniffed him and he burst into hysterics. Snot smeared everywhere. Everyone was dying laughin and baby Jackson got so blimpin mad he took his first steps, right outa the stables with an 18 month old Adrien right on his heels. I swear he was Jackson’s bodyguard after that…for a little while at least. Adrien is my younger brother. He’s about yall’s age. Though you probably already know that.” They all cracked up as Leal conjured up baby stories he didn’t even remember. Wearing a smile that stopped right before his eyes, Stiles slid in first, Scott after him. One by one, they settled around him but his body centered on Stiles. Counting, it took three seconds for Stiles to turn his way. Once he did, he didn’t hesitate to take back what his father stole from him. In the middle of the restaurant, in front of all their friends and his cousin, he captured his fruit punch flavored lips, not giving a damn if a million reporters saw them or not. Stiles froze slack against him, but he coaxed him to respond by peppering him with tiny chaste kisses until he surrendered. The table grew silent as he swallowed Stiles’s moan. His hand desperately gripped fistfuls of his soft t-shirt underneath his jacket. He forgot how exhilarating it felt to kiss in public, like taunting everyone who wasn’t fortunate enough to have this. To have someone like Stiles. To have his Stiles.

           “Um. Guys.” McCall whispered, his voice dripping with worry. He withdrew his previous statement. He was equally annoying. “…um…seriously…We have company.”

          Stiles jerked away despite his protests. Predictably, a plump greasy man wearing a trench coat, pressed against the glass as he snapped pictures of them. No one expected him to erupt with laughter. For some reason, the whole thing screamed hilarious. His dad wasn’t even the primary republican candidate for the election. He roared until tears soaked his sandwich wrapper. One thing to come from his uncontrollable fit, the man crept away, mumbling variations of the word freak. Everyone warily carried on with their dinner once he eventually calmed down. They traded more stories about him as if this was a story time at the Public Library. His Stiles slid closer to rub soothing circles onto his thigh.

            “Sorry for blaming you.” He uttered, rubbing his forehead against Jackson’s temple. It gave them the allusion of privacy. “You could have just told me last night.”

             “Yeah I know.” There was nothing else to say. He touched the salad’s plastic container absently. His appetite left with the man who snapped pictures of them.

          “Stop fretting.” Stiles kissed his temple. “You eat.” He declared, sliding his salad out of Jackson’s palm and pealing back the top. “I’ll tell my dad a legitimate reason for why I can’t come home. Something dealing with paparazzi.” He lightly covered the exposed leaves in vinaigrette dressing. “And, then we roll up to Derek’s house with Leal and Isaac and commandeer one of his copious rooms.” He finished, placing the bowl back into his possession. “It’ll be fine.”

             “Famous last words.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he stabbed his first forkful of salad.

            “Well, if I’m gonna be grounded for eternity and you’re gonna be shipped off to boarding school, we might as well enjoy one last night of wild, sweaty freedom. Or, I could get Adrien’s number from Leal and enjoy it myself. He’d probably give it to me.”

             “You wouldn’t dare.” He gasped, stuffing the tasteless salad into his mouth. Stiles chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows. That challenging amusement in his eyes was exactly what he didn’t want. He watched, in horror, as he swiveled round to face the group again.

            “Hey… so Leal.” He called out, grinning when Leal focused his easy smile on him. “This might sound weird but…” Stiles paused, giving him a chance to retract his statement. He stood by his statement. Stiles talked a big game but he didn’t have the balls to ask for Adrien’s number. With his free hand, Jackson urged him to continue. “Can we see your phone? Jackson wanted to program all your numbers into his phone; he’s just too much of a wimp to ask.”  

         “Oh yeah, here. Put Y’alls number in there too. You know, that way we can keep in touch.” He slid his white Android across the table and Jackson intercepted the thing before it reached Stiles’s eager little hands.

            “Ok. Ok. You made your point. Never leave your phone around him again.” He growled, pulling Stiles back against his chest. He chuckled, settling into him with a smug smile. Isaac, Danny, and Scott, who have heard about his sudden fascination with his cousin, caught on quickly, snickering behind their palms.

             “What’s happenin right now?” Leal asked, pointing a suspicious finger at each one of them. They all wore innocent looks since no one wanted to broach that subject. “Ok. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out soon enough.” As a group, they decided to head out after that. He bagged his uneaten sandwich and water, clutching it as everyone filed out. Now that someone captured photos of them, he didn’t care. Intertwining their fingers, he pulled Stiles along behind him. Thankfully, with night upon them, photographers journeyed off to make actual money on people of real importance.

           “Scott, you coming with us to Derek’s?” Stiles asked, as they all lingered outside the restaurant, in the cold. That’s what he hated most about Northern California in the winter. When the cold weather came, it  _came_. Even with his elevated core temperature, he shivered, stuffing their conjoined hands into the pocket of his wool coat. They formed a loose plan quickly. Scott, swayed by Isaac’s pleading, decided to spend the night at Derek’s house. Since Leal drove his truck nearly three days across the country, he offered to strap Scott’s motorbike down. With sad goodbyes, Danny headed home to finish his homework, leaving Isaac to choose a car. Without hesitation, he chose Scott and Leal. To think they bonded over pizza and chemistry early today. Isaac chuckled at his bogus melancholy as they split ways.

            He drove them to Derek’s in silence while Stiles bargained with his dad. After trying every possible plea, it turned out that the truth actually does work. Of course, his former lies earned him an extra week of grounding and one week of lost Jeep privileges.

          Derek, standing menacingly on the porch, waited for them when they pulled up. After he and Stiles eyed each other, they both sighed. Derek, with a doubt, was going to kill them. Only he didn’t. With fear clouding their eyes, they watched him stock right past the Porsche.

           “Oh no.” Stiles muttered, as they both scrambled out of the car. He expected to see Leal pinned to the ground or with claws against his throat. Their jaws dropped as Derek amiably shook his hand, saying how pleased he was to meet a member of Jackson’s family. “Ummm- what?” Stiles leaned over the hood of the car to whisper.

           “I know.” He murmured back, through the side of mouth. Isaac and Scott faired much worse as they stood right there, observing the magnitude of Derek’s congenial smile.

              “You must be tired after all that driving.” Derek clapped a hand down onto his shoulder. “I set up a room for you. Boys, help him with his stuff.” Derek dropped his affability only for a moment to bark orders at them. Terrified of this unusual Derek, they all startled into action. Scott and Isaac, closest to the truck, pulled two suitcases from the backseat.

             “Nice home, you got here. I appreciate you letting me crash.” Leal exclaimed as they disappeared into the house. They all stopped just short of the stairs, semi-afraid to venture any farther. Interesting how they now preferred the desolate darkness of the night to the illuminated comfort of Derek’s house.

                “Is he drunk?” Stiles asked them, peering up at the cracked door.

                “Maybe, he’s high.” Isaac offered, fiddling with Leal’s suitcase handle. "Can we get high?"

 _“Or maybe he’s being a good host to Jackson’s cousin because he had to spend all afternoon with you fools.”_ Derek’s voice flitted to his, Scott’s, and Isaac’s ear. Much to Stiles’s dismay. He begged for an instant replay once they released a round of snickers.  _“Stop playing around and get your butts inside. You’re letting in bugs.”_

              “What the hell guys? Being token human sucks.” Rushing inside, they heard Stiles. Jackson waited for him at the door, unlike Scott and Isaac. After they ran Leal’s bags downstairs to the basement guest suite, they broke for Isaac’s room. Stiles caught them just as Scott’s head disappeared behind the upstairs loft wall. “Well, good night to you too.” Shouting up at them, he stumbled into the house. “Where’s Leal?”

               “Already downstairs.” Jackson could hear him walking around downstairs. “We can stay in me and Danny’s room.” He offered, leading him by the hand upstairs. “Before you ask, it’s not our room, our room. We just keep clothes in the drawers and sleep there sometimes.” Unless Stiles had wandered around himself, this was his first time really at the house. He pointed out important rooms while they trailed through the house, mainly the bathrooms and Derek’s room. Isaac turned his TV to full blast in his room, so they left them alone. “And this is ours.” He flipped on the light, illuminating their queen-sized bed, one dresser, a desk, and a TV. It’s been awhile since they’ve come in here. He grinned at the stray Adele poster tacked up above the bed. He chuckled, remembering that phase in his and Danny’s life.

          “Adele?” Stiles snickered, collapsing down onto the bed. His sweater rose up around his stomach, revealing dark bristles resting over smooth, untarnished skin.

             “We could talk about Adele or you we could do something more fun.” His eyes darkened at the sight of Stiles frantically wrestling with his sweater. Kicking the door closed, he pealed off his jacket while chuckling at his struggle. Only Stiles looked sexy, awkward, and adorable at the same time. “Still wanna talk?”

               “Shut up and get your ass over here.”

             Flicking off the lights, he stalked to the bed, chuckling. Just as he lowered himself down over Stiles, making their bodies one, Isaac and Scott’s pleading flitted to his ears. “McCall and Lahey want us to stop.” He murmured against Stiles’s lips. He captured Stiles’s laugh in a kiss. Rolling their bodies together, they blocked out anything that wasn’t currently in this bed.

 

          The sun barely breached the sky when Derek knocked on their door the next morning. Lethargic, he struggled to open his eyes. His right arm, clamped behind Stiles’s waist, screamed for released. He endured the pain, burrowing his body even closer around him. Derek banged again, huffing just beyond the door. They still had a solid three hours before the first bell rang. There was no way he was leaving this damn bed.

          “Jackson.” His knock grew more insistent, now a thump with the palm of his hand. By now, he woke up not only them but also Isaac and Scott too. “I know you’re awake. Don’t make me come in there.” Nooooo. Both he and Stiles groaned, setting a mutual vibration off in their bodies. Derek invading their room now was not an option. He’d raise hell, witnessing every item of clothing on their bodies last night strewn across the floor. Sighing, he accepted his faith. Stiles gripped his hand as he pulled his arm free.

          “Stay.” He tried to mutter. It sounded more like a discord of moans, grunts, and screeches. A lazy smile pulled across his face as he stared down at Stiles, peering up at him from one opened eye. His skin, speckled with moles and misshapen purple hickies, glowed an almost blue from the predawn sky. They probably should have closed the blinds last night.

        “I’ll be right back.” He whispered, laying soothing kisses over his shoulder. Grinning, Stiles basked in the sensation before he succumbed to sleep. He waited a few seconds for his snoozing to commence before sliding from the bed. He gave up trying to locate his briefs after two sweeps of the room. Grabbing Stiles’s ridiculous plaid boxers, he fitted them snuggly around his waist and threw on the nearest shirt. Also Stiles. Did they throw his shit out the window or something? He snorted, slipping through a tiny slip in the door to hide Stiles from Derek’s view.

        With an aggravated (and sleepy) grimace, Derek pushed off the wall in front of their room in his typical gray PJ bottoms. Upon smelling him, he all but clogged his nose as he strode closer. “You might want to find the right clothes. Your mother’s downstairs.” He grumbled, nodding his head in the stairs' direction. Alert, he tilted his nose to the sky. His mom? None of that made sense.

          “No, she’s not. I can’t smell her.” He sniffed the air, scanning for her cinnamon and ginger spiced scent. Nothing.

         “That’s cause all you smell is Stiles.” He blushed at Derek’s words uncharacteristically. “Now hurry. Her tea will be done any minute.” Oh no. He sighed, understanding what that sign meant. “Wait.” He paused with his palm wrapped around the knob. “When you hear what she has to say, you need to think about what you want and only you. Got it?”

         Worrying now, he gave him a succinct nod. Derek strolled back downstairs. This time, with an actual reason to find his clothes, he located them halfway under the bed. When he resurfaced, Stiles scrutinized him with his head propped up against his palm. Because he could, he tracked his gaze over where the dolphin gray pooled around his fair skin.

         “Your dumb shoulders are going to stretch my favorite shirt.” Stiles, still delirious with sleep, slurred as he smirked at him. He pealed the offending fabric off and tossed it towards the bed. Now mixed with their scent, the shirt landed over Stiles’s face.

         “My dumb shoulders made that shirt look better.” He joked, smirking down at him. “Go back to sleep. I’m just going to talk to her.”

        “Her?” Stiles jerked upright, causing the sheet to glide away from him. Gritting his teeth, he focused on fastening his jeans, knowing that one look at Stiles and they’d never one those doors. Jackson frowned, fastening his jean’s button. “Your mom is here? At 5:29 in the morning?” Before Jackson stopped him, he popped from bed to slither into Jackson’s briefs since his boxers were on him.

          “Stiles-”

       “Jackson. Shut up. I’m coming.” Kissing him, he lured him out of the room by hand and he followed. He pulled him from the room by hand and he followed. He heard two faint snores radiating from inside Isaac’s room as they passed.  _Lucky them._  He cursed fate for hating him so much. They ventured through the quiet house, only hearing birds rap at one another outside. His mom and Derek waited quietly for him at the kitchen table. With her clear-cut diamond glinting in the kitchen light, she fiddled with the rim of their tea mug. Jackson noted the cut of her eyes, worn from whatever one sided argument they had today.

        “Jackson.” She sighed in relief as she rose from her seat regally when they entered. Derek gestured for them to sit down with a hard glance. Tugging on his hand, Stiles forced him over to the table. Though tired, she grinned at their conjoined hands. “Good morning Stiles.” She turned what little charm she had left on him, smiling sincerely at Stiles’s disheveled bedhead and eye crusties. He deflated, realizing this wasn’t a part of the typical routine. His mom was here on her own volition. “My associate informed me what transpired yesterday at the school and I apologize. If you accept, I’d like to get this matter expunged from your record. That’s the least I can do.”

        Shocked, they both watched her motionless with wide eyes. Has he floated into an alternative universe where his mother actually functions as a normal person? As Stiles shook her hand in gratitude, the world broke.

        “Come on Stiles. Let’s give them some privacy.” He vaguely heard Derek in the background. And, Stiles fabricating every reason why he should stay. Derek, taking him “lightly” by the collar, dragged him into the kitchen. Stiles sent him a ‘good luck’ smile before they disappeared. He kept his ear to the rhythmic drumming of Stiles’s heartbeat to maintain his cool. The two of them, alone, stared at the door for a moment before gradually turning back into each other. Without an audience, the stormy film transforming her face returned.

          “Jackson.” She sighed, fiddling with her wedding ring. “It’s bad. There are articles. Pictures. Interviews from your classmates. In the next coming minutes, you will make some tough decisions and I’m sorry that it’s come to this. I tried to reason but he finds you a threat to his career. And if there’s anything that your father loves most in this world-”

         “It’s his job. Yeah, I know.” He fell back against the chair in a huff. “Mom. What is this about?”

        She gulped the last pull of her tea before finally answering him. “Ever since you introduced us to Stiles, your father has been in contact with a school in New Hampshire called Phillips Exeter.” His heart sunk. Boarding school was only a joke. They’d never mention it as a possibility before. “Last night, he determined you an official liability to his campaign. So, in his eyes, you’re set to leave this Saturday. Jackson.”

          “If it’s happening anyway, why are you telling me first?”He squinted, a dismissive snort spilled from his lips.

         “Because I’ve fashioned my own plan in preparation for this day. Of course, I never thought we’d need to use it.” She flitted her head dramatically. “But you never know with your father. As much as I love him, he rarely has the best intentions.”

       “I don’t need this. I’ll stay with Danny’s family or Derek. Hell, I’ll stay with Stiles and Mr. Stilinski if I have to. I’m not leaving.” He hissed, barely suppressing his anger. His hands, thrashing, clutched onto the embracing fabric of Stiles’s shirt. He focused on nothing but Stiles and his sizzling pan of bacon in the kitchen. He and Derek actually laughed together as they talked about some show he’d never seen.

         “I haven’t been the best mother and I apologize for that. I allowed the thrill of running my firm come before you and a mother should  **never do that**. I needed to be there for you. Especially, after hearing about your true relation to Maura and Richard.” His goddamn eyes watered (again) as she grasped his hands across the table. “I understand why you’re reluctant to leave Stiles, Danny, and your other friends. They’re your family, but baby, we both know what will happen if you remain in Beacon Hills now that your father has made his decision. He’d destroy anyone associated with you. Discredit their word in the eyes of the media so not even Perez Hilton would believe them. No one else needs to experience his callous behavior. So. Please, will you listen to my proposal? I think you might even like it.”

          “How can I possibly like leaving here?”  _This was not happening. He was still in bed, wrapping his aching arms around Stiles. This was not happening._  He chanted those two sentences while the buzz of his own boiling blood replaced Stiles’s chipper voice in the background. Sometime between the last time he eavesdropped, Isaac and Scott joined their little breakfast party. Derek probably told them not to listen in because they laughed right along with Stiles. A lump formed in his throat as he thought about never experiencing that elation again.

        “Jackson. Shhh.” His mom handed him a napkin from the center of the table. “I promise you’ll like my idea. It’s only until you turn eighteen in a few months and then legally you can say ‘fuck you David Whittemore.’” Despite the furious prickles of tears, he laughed. Not once, as he ever heard his mom swear. She pronounced every syllable in her graceful tone. “I thought that’d do the trick.” She grinned, patting his hand with the uncomfortable ease of a new mom. “You ready?” He wasn’t but he nodded anyway. “Ok. I’ve been talking to your Aunt Reyna and-”

          He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course. That’s why she sent Leal.” He muttered, more to himself than to his mom. Perking up, she caught his words.

         “Your cousin is here already? In Beacon Hills?” As if his sudden arrival was news to her, she squeezed his hand, securitizing his every move. He cackled bitterly at the irony. She didn’t even have a handle on her own plan.

          “Mom. He’s downstairs. That’s his truck out front.”

       Falling back against the wooden chair, she pulled away. He watched her morph into lawyer mode as she calculated this new information. He never understood how, out of the two them, his father held the control in their relationship. She was smarter and more introspective than he was. He fiddled with the napkin in his hand as she thought. It felt like cheating on the pack and Stiles but the idea of Kentucky sounded…pleasant. Having actual family surrounding him. Cousins to torment. An aunt to compliment on how he’d grown into such a heartbreaker.

          “Ok.” She pulled him from his thoughts. “If you really want to do this, then I have a plan. Go wake him. He needs to be here for this.” Meaning it as an order, he obeyed without complaint. Unfortunately, for him, the basement connected to the kitchen. He schooled his expression just before crossing the barrier between the kitchen and the dining room. Right now, he couldn’t handle Isaac and Scott’s pities or Derek’s concern. He wanted to avoid Stiles’s reaction entirely.

          “Morning dude.” Scott greeted him a kind smile when he walked into the room. Both he and Isaac, swiveling in their kitchen stools, attempted to mask their sympathetic gazes. He grunted, realizing they eavesdropped anyway. Stiles stood in front of the oven, flipping pancakes expertly in the air. Showoff, he thought as he stepped up behind him. Fitting his arms around tightly around Stiles’s waist, he buried his nose in the Vee of his neck, hoping his scent might erased the last 20 minutes. It didn’t. 

           “Hey.” Stiles, melding their bodies closer together, released a soft hum. “How’s it going in there?” It took much energy not to tense or flinch. Scott and Isaac, on the other hand, stalled their childish swirling at the question. Instead of lying, he ran his nose over his favorite spot, where the scent of Stiles was the strongest. “I take it not good, then.” He chuckled, tilting his head to give Jackson better access. He smirked when Scott and Isaac abruptly swirled to face away from them. While Scott reeked of disgust with a hint of anguish, jealousy poured from Isaac’s skin. Poor kid. “Hopefully breakfast will brightened the mood.” He doubted it. “Derek went to go pry Leal from bed. He doesn’t strike you as a vegetarian does he? I hope not because even Derek’s pancake mix has bacon bits hidden inside.” He let Stiles ramble on while he soaked him in. Five months stood between now and May, his birthday. He was so pathetically deep in their relationship a week sounded like torture. “Hey.” Stiles elbowed his ribcage. “I can hear you scowling. It’s going to be fine. Wanna grab Isaac’s orange juice from the fridge?” 

         “Yeah ok.” He agreed, pressing a kiss over his jawline.

         “Mmmm. That smells delicious.” Leal greeted them in a yawn as he and Derek entered the kitchen. Both with the same build, stocky and tall, with stubble for days, they could pass for fraternal twins. Only Leal, with his carefree smile, wore a comfortable pea green shirt that read, “Cambridge Point” in natural brown calligraphy. They shared a mutual smile before Isaac and Scott lured him into conversation. Predictably, Derek marched towards him.

         “I don’t want to talk about it.” He confessed, pulling out the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. Derek nodded, even though an objection graced his lips. Each grabbing a platter of food, everyone marched into the living room. From the back, he heard his mother’s surprised pleasantries.

        Leal, carrying the eggs, gestured for him to fall back. They waited for an empty kitchen before either of them spoke. “So…Derek filled me in on the moms’ plan.” Leal whispered, resting his hip against the kitchen island. “We can think of something else, if you want. Not that I don’t want you to come home with me cause that’d be wicked. We have crazy amounts of fun and there’s more than enough room for you. Seriously. We have like five empty bedrooms for no reason. And space for Percy too. There are photos of you two on the mantle. Please don’t ask me how.” Leal explained, ebbing his sudden skepticism. “Wait. None of that was the point. Look, I reckon you like this place, right? It’s your home. I get that. You don’t have to listen to them. We can work something out. Like, emancipation. Though that might be kinda hard with David being drinking buddies with the Attorney General and all. We can-”

          “No.” He stopped him before his nefarious plans grew too outrageous. He already made his decision. “I want to go.” He confessed, freezing at the answer that spilled from his mouth. Silence fell over them until Stiles’s voice penetrated the air.

          “Wait. What?” Leal stammered.

          “I said I want to go.”

          “Hey! Hurry up in there. Mrs. Whittemore wants some eggs!” They swiveled towards his voice with the same thought.

          “You know what this means, right?”

         “I can have both.” That’s what he told himself. Who said having Stiles and his family was mutually exclusive. He wanted both and for the past seventeen years, he always took what he wanted. This time wasn’t any different. Leal, smiling genuinely, patted his forearm.

       “Alrighty then. Any time you want him to visit; I’ll book the tickets that day. You go ahead in. I’ll start making calls. Have a good day at school.” He transferred the eggs to Jackson’s empty hand and retreated back down the basement doors. As long as he reminded himself that he wanted this, he was good. Taking a deep breath, he swaggered into the dining room with his head high. Now, he had to figure out how to tell Stiles without losing him...or a limb. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue crickets and awkward silence here....*
> 
> Give me another few hours for the next chapter and....yeah. Thank you for sticking with this. Fic Marathon for everyone!


	14. Mothers Know Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N- here starts the image portion of the fic. just warning. for optimal reading.

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	15. Don't Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested. I listened to this song on repeat as I wrote this chapter. [Crazy One More Time by Kip Moore.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxelPRVtOo4)

         Stiles groaned as his phone vibrated incessantly around three am. It wasn't as if he'd get any sleep tonight. Desperate to do something other than drunkenly count the holes in his ceiling, he felt around for the cold metal. In the process, he knocked off the empty bottle of Jack Daniels he and Scott polished off earlier. _Ahh, Scott. He was the greatest brosef ever._ He giggled, repeating the word brosef in his head. His LED screen nearly blinded him when he toggled it on. An unknown number texted him fourteen times over the course of an hour. Intrigued, he tapped opened the series of messages. 

_Hey._

_Its me._

_This is my new #_

_Had to get a new phone._

_He paid for the other one._

_At least I got a upgrade out of it ;)_

_iPhone 6 Plus baby!_

_Anyway...._

_I leave 10a tomorrow._

_Breakfast. My house. 9 in the morn._

_You have to come Stiles._

_I need you there._

_love you._

_Night._

        Jackson needed him. Too drunk to remember why they stopped talking in the first place, he promised himself he'd go. Morning came and Stiles burrowed deeper under his covers. Lying there, he knew he was being an asshole. Today wasn’t about him. Today was about Jackson and seeing his family. It was about how his eyes squinted up instead of down around Leal. Or finally freeing himself of his father’s turmoil. Yet, he still couldn’t pull himself from bed. _It’s only five months,_ his brain scoffed. Did they really expect Jackson to return after five months of experiencing what he’s craved for his entire life? No. They couldn’t compete with his family. For that reason, he’d rather not try. Flipping over, he hid from the smiling sun. 

 

* * *

        Jackson thought he’d survive the big goodbye love fest. Standing in front of his now old house, surrounded by his pack, the sudden reality of his move dawned them. Even, Scott sniffled while he pulled him into a loose hug. Now, five months seemed like a year when they were all eying him with varying solemn frowns. The only person missing was Stiles. No one mentioned his absence though everyone felt it like a silence looming over the room. 

       “Alright. Come on. We should let them get on the road.” Derek, ever the adult, broke up the tight circle they formed around him. Groaning, everyone snuck in their last hugs and messages before heading for their row of cars. When Danny and Derek stayed behind, he groaned, knowing a lecture was heading his way. He dealt with the easier of the two.

        “You can call me anytime.” Derek told him for the fourth time today.

        “I know, Derek.” Rolling his eyes, he kicked the stray sidewalk pebbles by his feet.

        “I’m serious. I’m still your Alpha and if you’re in trouble I’ll-”

        “I know. I know. I’ll call you.”

        “Ok. Well. Be safe. I’ll check in with you in a few days.” Derek nodded once, drew him into the world’s quickest hug, and left him alone with Danny. Without Stiles, Danny helped him pack up his room. In these four days, they’ve spent more time together than in the last month. Anymore goodbyes and he might explode. 

           “Don’t leave here without seeing him.”

           “Danny-”

          “Don’t Danny me.” He pushed him playfully towards the truck where Leal and Percy waited inside. “I know you. Remember? You’re mad and hurt but so is he. So, don’t leave here without seeing him.”

         “We were stopping by there anyway.” He knew the chances of Stiles showing up was slim. Danny, however, wasn’t convinced. "Of course, I’m going. It’s Stiles. He’s…” _everything._ Danny heard the unspoken word in his voice.

          “Good. Imma miss you, fool.” Now that he was satisfied, a bright smile replaced his tight grimace.

         “Yeah. Me too. You better not replace me while I’m gone.” He smirked at his best friend as they lingered in front of the truck’s passenger door. “And stop flirting with Isaac when you're still with Ethan. You're blinding him with those dimples when he’s supposed to have McCall’s babies.” At the base of the driveway, Isaac and Scott coughed uncontrollably. He bet they’d have that awkward conversation by Monday.

        “Had to get one more in huh?” Danny chuckled. “Go meddle with your own life. I’ll text you later.” They clung to one another for a long moment. Finally, wearing matching grins, they parted. Jackson hopped into the truck while Danny jogged to his car.

       “You ready?” Leal asked him, speaking for the first time this morning as to give him time with the pack. Discreetly, he glanced at his house in the side mirror. His gaze landed over his parents' bay window, where his mom peaked through the curtain. Smiling, she waved to him before righting the curtain.  

         “Yeah. We have to stop at Stiles’s house.”

        “Well duh.” Smirking, Leal righted his aviators before lugging the truck and their attached trailer filled with his belongings away from the house. A cacophony of honks resonated as they past Danny, Lydia, and Derek’s car.

* * *

            “Which house is it again?” Leal asked, breaking him away from his spiraling thoughts as he leaned against the window quietly.

          “It’s that one coming up with the cop car and the Jeep.” Easing on the breaks, the truck crawled to a silent stop in front of the Stilinskis’ mailbox. Just as Leal parked, their door burst open. From this angle, he caught only the right side of Stiles’s body. Frantically closing the door behind him and his dad, Stiles shoved his coat over his body.  Instead of making himself known, Jackson observed them.

          “Why can’t you just let me drive myself? I’ll get there faster!” He pleaded with his dad as he wrestled with fitting his key into the keyhole.

          “Because you’re still grounded for two more days and you haven’t gotten a night's rest in days.” The sheriff hissed, trying to help him with the lock.

          “It’s just right around the corner. I’ll be fine. Gahhh.” Jackson heard the door rattle under his thrashing arm. “Why won’t this thing ever lock?!” Between the rattling door and his exasperated tone, he sensed the whole ‘severe sleep deprivation.’

          “Stiles. Let me do it.” They tousled for control of the door. “Stiles... **STILES!”** Silence reigned over them. Jackson struggled for a better view. He pressed his chest slack against the dashboard. Still, it was difficult to see behind the Jeep’s right taillight. He used his ears instead, knowing how bizarre he must seem to his cousin. Leal regarded him with a look of intrigue and concern. For now, he ignored it. Shutting his eyes, he zeroed in on their conversation. “You have to calm down. I promise it’ll work out. Just…breathe.” His dad muttered, both his voice and scent dripping with distress. Overhearing them, his heart thumped too. Using the opportunity, he inhaled and exhaled in tandem with Stiles. Inhale, they both pulled in a steady flow of oxygen. Exhale, they released it. Soon, their breathing merged into one. “Now. Tell me what’s really happening?”

          Stiles remained silent. In fact, if he hadn't focused harder; he might have missed his admission. “I keep losing people.” He murmured and everything stopped for him. The radio became a muted buzzing. Percy’s demolition of his new chew penguin evaporated. The only thing he experienced was Stiles’s pain. It was acceptable for him to suffer. Life groomed him for this life of darkness. But Stiles? He was unadulterated happiness. His personality shined brighter than all of theirs put together. His hand trembled over the truck's door handle. If he didn’t open this door now, he never would.

          “I’ll be right back.” He declared under a shaky breath, popping the door open.

         Behind him, Leal grinned solemnly. “I’m not going anywhere.” He relaxed in his seat, shutting off the car. Grateful for everything he’s already done, Jackson gave him a genuine smile. He took his first heavy step towards the house. Rounding the truck, he looked at Stiles for the first time in three days. Anxiety oozed from his boyfriend’s body as his father enveloped him into a hug. His unnaturally pallid, frail physique screamed for food, a bed, and some love. He caused that and it hurt. 

        “We have to go before Jackson leaves.” Stiles susurrated, pulling away from his father's embrace. The sheriff met his eyes behind Stiles’s head as he lingered at the bottom of their porch steps.

          “I’m heading to the station.” With a quick nod, he unlocked the door, pocketed Stiles’s keys, and hopped down the steps. Thinking his dad denied his request, Stiles in a  panic, swiveled around with dangerous arms. He cemented into place once he caught him loitering at the bottom of the steps. Wobbling, Stiles tripped over his feet to get to him. In fear that Stiles might collapse, he forced him down onto the aged wooden steps. 

            “I…ummm. You…uh. I was just coming to your breakfast.” Stiles stammered, pulling on his untamed morning hair. Taking a seat beside him, Jackson grinned. 

            “I gathered. You didn’t miss anything. Erica burned the bacon.” He tried for casual since the atmosphere surrounding them crackled with uncomfortable distress. Stiles, huffing a suppressed laugh, shook his head disbelievingly. “Oh and my dad stayed upstairs the entire time as if it wasn’t my home-going party.”

            “That’s fucking ridiculous.” He hissed venomously, while decimating the weeds growing between the wooden planks.

          “Yeah, well. It’s nothing new.” Their conversation drifted off, leaving them sitting straight ahead like two middle school children petrified of feelings. Resting his knee on the porch, he pivoted his whole body towards his boyfriend. Stiles’s hand trembled as he caressed feather-light shapes into his palm using the pad of his thumb. “Look. Obviously it’s not going to be rainbows and unicorns but I didn’t invest months into this relationship for it to end over some miles.” It wasn’t the most romantic speech ever but it’s more than he gave most people.

          “Some miles?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You act like it’s across town. Beacon Hills, CA to Paris, KY? Two thousand and four-hundred miles. Thirty-seven hours away. Five, if you can afford the $700 dollar plane ticket. That’s a four-hour time difference.” He spurted off facts as if his career title was Siri. Jackson pinched his lips together, ignoring the tightening of his stomach.

            Clearly, he was going about this the wrong way. “Do you have your phone?” He asked, pulling his new iPhone from his front hoodie pocket. As he navigated through his contacts, Stiles fiddled with his phone absently. Finding his name, he clicked, initiating a call.

             “Jackson-”

          “Shh. Watch.” Together, they observed the timer as his phone reached out for Stiles. Exactly four seconds later, Stiles' phone illuminated with an incoming call. An old picture of them that Danny must have snapped flashed with his name. “2,400 miles and I can talk to you in four seconds.”

              “Jackson-" 

           “Not done. Pull up your stopwatch.” Stiles obeyed his command with a dramatic sighed. He drafted a quick text filled with random numbers and blabber. When he was satisfied with his message, he hovered over the send button. “Ok on three. 1-2-3.” In perfect harmony, their fingers snapped against their respective buttons. Once again, the timer cataloged their wait period. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds. Five- Stiles’s phone vibrated; the notifying banner revealed itself over his stopwatch app. “Five seconds. That probably applies to everything. Skype. Facebook. Hell, I’ll even download that ridiculous Snap App if you want me too.”

           “It’s called Snap Chat.” Stiles interrupted, setting his phone on the wooden plank.

          “I didn’t say that?" Stiles nodded ‘no.’ “Fine. I’ll download that Snap Chat App. I just-” He shrugged to phrase what he needed, how to describe the mess swirling inside of him. He settled for simply opening his mouth and seeing what toppled out. “I really want you to try. I meant what I said about you being the best part of all of this. None of this would've happened if you hadn’t plopped your butt in Beacon Hills.”

          “I had nothing to do with that stuff. You guys were fine when I got here.” He waved him away even as a rosy blushed returned his face back to its natural golden color.

          “Fine?!” That one word elevated his entire mood, transforming him from slightly frustrated to hysterical. “Before you came I was passing out drunk in fields. Nothing about my life was fine. Things happened that you wouldn’t believe if I told you. We’re still not even sure how it happened but I wasn’t myself. I hurt a shit ton of innocent people all because some psychotic assholes wanted revenge.” It’s the first time he admitted that statement aloud. Humiliation and shame paralyzed his body like a dose hemlock seeping through his veins. Stiles, using his thumb, swept away the sweat accumulating at his forehead.

           “Jacks- you don’t have to tell me this.” He uttered, dragging his hand down his side. 

          “No.” He sneered. His jaw ached from its locked position. “I want you to understand how much you helped me. I was a mess, drowning in my own misery and you showed up with your weird laugh and carefree winks. I almost hated you for it, the same way I hated McCall. Somehow, we ended up here and I can’t…go back there. Stiles. Just-please promise me you’ll...” His head shook vigorously as beads of moisture fell from his eyes. _“I need you.”_ He whispered, praying Stiles gave them a chance. If asked, he’d unload that trailer right now. Time crawled slowly as he waited for Stiles’s response. He deflated as Stiles gifted hom with a terse nod. 

             “Ok. But I need you to promise me two things.”

             “Anything.” 

            Erecting his back, Stiles swiveled into him, matching his stance. He waited eagerly for Stiles’s conditions. “One. Never say you _need_ me again.” Oh, that he had not expected. Closing himself off, his head slowly lowered to the ground. “Hey. That’s not what I meant.” Stiles, cradling his chin, forced his gaze back up. “You’re not some helpless kid who feels insignificant in his own skin. You don’t need me or your father or your mom or Danny or Derek or even Leal and your other family. You always do what you want because you want it. That’s why you’re moving across the country even when I asked you not to. And, I’m sorry about that, by the way. I was selfish and you have enough of that in your life without me tossing my shit in there.”

            “I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Grinning at one another, they chuckled, expelling the air of the residual anxiety. 

         “Damn. We’re like a million levels of deranged. Oh- I forgot number two. You better download Snap Chat or I’m kicking your ass. You know how obsessed I am.”

            Tilting down, Jackson nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck, memorizing the scent of dial bar soap and something uniquely Stiles. He sighed when Stiles rested the side of his head against his crown. Despite knowing Leal wanted to hit the road by ten, they sat soundless. Their chests compressed and expanded in sync. He’s not sure when, how, or who initiated it but suddenly they were languorously slicking into each other’s mouths. Jackson groaned, framing Stiles’s face with his hands, as they translated all of their unexpressed emotions into a kiss that made all the fighting worth it. Stiles, interlocking his slender arms around Jackson’s waist, tugged him so that his legs wrapped around his lithe frame. One leg slipped behind Stiles and the other stretched across his lap. Hands roamed where they shouldn't in front of the entire community at ten in the morning. Loosing himself, he fisted his palms under Stiles’s tatty t-shirt and spread them out until they spanned the small of his back. Stiles quivered, arching against his touch. He deepened the kiss as Stiles ran his hands over the bristles of his buzz cut. Fuck, he'd miss that feeling. He burned the sensation of Stiles's hands into his memory. The fervor became too heavy. Panting, he had to pull away for a taste of fresh air. Snickering, Stiles nipped his bottom lip in a tease. Gripping his hips, Stiles wiggled them back until a white pillar and their rectangular hedges hid them from wandering eyes. Damning the consequences, he straddled Stiles's lap.

           “Wait. Wait.” Stiles pushed him back after long minutes. Their lips parting with an audible smack. Gasping for air, they panted, swallowing the bit of oxygen between them. With their inevitable deadline encroaching up on them, not touching him was unacceptable. Teasing him, he nipped at his bottom lip, sinking his teeth down. “I don’t want to get arrested for indecency.” Stiles mumbled, slathering tiny kisses over his jaw. “Inside?” Damn, did he want to place a locked door between them and the world. 

              “I can’t… Leal.” They both peered at the truck where his cousin chatted to someone on his phone.

             “…is busy. Come on. Ten minutes.” Stiles pleaded with him, tracing his abdomen outline with his finger. Although he wanted to spend hours making up for the three days they lost, he’d never leave after that. He flitted between Stiles and Leal, conflicted. After a long moment, Stiles made the decision for him. “You should probably go, huh? I get it.”

            “Yeah, I should.” He shuffled off his lap, already mourning the loss of their touch. Fixing his clothes discreetly behind a trimmed hedge was more difficult than it looked. Bending down to adjust himself, he smacked Stiles’s hands away multiple times. “Come on, handsy. Up!” He hoisted him off the ground, swiping his hands over the leaves and dirt sticking to Stiles's black sweatpants.

                  “Wait. I should give you something to remember me by.” He shouted as if the idea just occurred to him.

                  “Stiles. Its five months. Not an eternity.”

              “Shut up. They do it in the movies. Be right back!.” Stumbling back into the house, he left him on the front porch. Jackson adjusted himself to mask his embarrassing hard on. An eerie sensation of someone watching him crawled over his back. Stiles's next door neighbor judged him from her kitchen window. There was no telling how long she watched them. He winked at her, knowing she’d give the Sheriff an earful when he returned.

              Just as she drew the blinds in a huff, Stiles fell through his front door, carefully clutching a single sheet of paper.

           “So. It took me awhile to find it in all my shit. But here.” He thrust the ‘token of remembrance’ into his chest. The product of their caricature debacle stared back at him. He chortled, not expecting the artist to have drawn him as well. He fingered along the inked edges of their cartoon form, reminiscing of that day. “It’s yours. I already made a copy.”

            “Thanks.” He’d put it up in his new room, wherever that may be. “I guess I should-” He toed the steps, not daring to speak the word goodbye. This wasn’t an ending. The credits weren’t going to roll as miles separated them. Still, it felt as such.

           Rolling his eyes, Stiles tugged him in by his sweatshirt. They poured all their goodbyes into that one last kiss. Cradling his head, Stiles swiped at the spilt tear he hadn't felt escape. He felt ridiculous crying over this. When he gave his goodbyes to Danny, his oldest friend, his tear ducks were as dry as the current drought in California. Now, his tears could revive the dead flowerbeds below them.

           “I hate you. I told myself not to cry today.” He muttered, when they pulled away.

          Stiles chuckled as he swiped at the residual moisture from his face. “There. Now you can’t even tell. Leal’s hanging up.” They both took a decisive step away from another, Stiles towards his front door and him to the middle step. “Text me or something. And give Percy a fat kiss for me. I’ll send him lots of treats.”

        “You’re ridiculous.” He beamed, clutching the rail. Like idiots, they stood grinning at each other for seconds. This wasn't a goodbye. He shouted to himself five times before his body reactivated. “Ok well…I’ll see you.” Stiles nodded and he couldn’t help himself. Hopping up the last few step, he snuck one more kiss before jogging off to the truck. Waving once more, he jumped up into the front seat.

           “Everything good?” Leal inquired softly, gripping the steering wheel.

           “Yeah. Thanks for waiting.”

         “I’m the coolest cousin ever. You remember that, now.” Cracking the ignition, he winked behind his sunglasses. Expertly, he reversed the truck AND trailer in Stiles’s short driveway without smashing the Jeep or the brittle tree in their front yard. They both waved at Stiles and then the truck eased away from the house. Just before they turned the corner, Stiles dragged the same sleeve dampened with his tears across his eyes. His fingers ripped over his keyboard.

_Just left Stiles’s. You busy?_

           Expecting his text, Danny responded to him immediately.

**Nope. Be there in ten. With tequila. Be safe Jacks.**

_Thanks. Don’t replace me and take care of him. Haha._

**You’re welcome. Ditto. And Duh. Now go bond with your cousin. We’re okay here.**

  
First, he texted Stiles the plan. 

        Leal sprung into action when his phone dropped into the center console's cup holder. “Here. Pick something. Thirty-four hours is a heck of a long time without tunes.” Reaching behind him, he produced the only existing collection of CDs ever. Amazed, Jackson shifted through pages and pages of albums, old and new. From T-Pain to Kenny Chesney. Elvis Presley to Run DMC. Linkin Park to Beyoncé. There was a shit ton of Beyoncé. Almost three pages worth on both sides. 

          “Eww, do you have every Beyoncé album in existence?” He snickered, turning the last page of his shrine. “ She’s not that good.”

       “Excuse me? That woman rattles my bones.” Leal gasped, snatching the weighted case away. Just for that comment, he suffered through hours of his cousin choreographing his own Beyoncé music video. At least, it kept his mind off Beacon Hills, Stiles, his pack, and his parents. With warm air spilling in from every window and Percy attacking his new chew toy in the backseat, he reclined in his chair and enjoyed the show.


	16. Kentucky Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about the journey and the destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typical disclaimer on photos (skip if you want)- 
> 
> There are a few non TW-photos included within these chapters. Basically, I googled hot country dudes, swooned, and took my pick. As such, these photos are NOT mine. I only pieced their radiance together. If you are owner of said photos and you happen to peruse stackson fic leisurely, first "wow hi. you're beautiful. Also, I will immediately remove them at your request." (oh and that extends to regular images as well. you too are also beautiful.)

 

* * *

 

        “Helllooooo. Earth to Stiles. I'm talking here."

        "Huh?"Stiles clicked off his phone's display. Their texts evaporated until all he saw was his reflection. "What was that?" 

        "We’re not making a habit of this.” Danny snapped his fingers to grab his attention. In each hand, he held up the drinks he smuggled into the house, an unopened bottle of _El Jimador_ and a 6-pack of _Budlight Lime_. He eyed the sleek bottle, glinting a white beam from the few rays of sun spilling through the guest bedroom. “I’m serious. After today, we’re done with this. Stiles, promise me.” Danny waited him out, leaning against the wall in his black athletic shorts and teal v-neck. His eyes squinted with concern and a hint of challenge. Stiles fell back against the decorative throw pillows with an exggaratrd sigh. 

        “I promise not to go off the rails because Jackson dropped us to be with his family halfway across the country.” He mollified him, fiddling with the warm metal phone. Danny scrutinized him for a total of ten Mississippi's. 

        “Not the words I’d have used but, it works. I guess.” He replied, shrugging his shoulders. Stiles reached for the tequila, already priming himself for the guttural burn headed his way. Only Danny whacked his hand with his palm, jolting him away. “Only beer. No hard stuff.” Danny slid the good stuff away. Mournfully, he waved goodbye to the golden liquid as it descended into Danny’s bag of goodies. "But! You get movies instead." A proud smile captured his face as he pulled something else from his mega bag o’ treats. “These movies will make your relationship seem perfect.” Following his introduction, eight red and white, clothing-optional DVD cases scattered across the bed. Picking up the closest American Pie movie, The Naked Mile, he burst with laughter. The last time he braved one of these movies, he popped an awkward boner in his old team captain and at the time best friend’s house. “From the beginning?” Danny inquired, holding up with first one with a cartoonish wiggling on his eyebrows.

       “Of course.”

       Danny ran the DVD over to the larger flat screen on the wall. Another reason why hiding in the guest room was the best idea ever. Fitting the long neck between his fingers, he grabbed one chilling beer for himself and one for Danny. Just as the opening credits rolled, Erica vaulted into the window with a tuck and roll. Without a sound, she stepped over Danny, laid her head in his lap, and grabbed a beer for herself. Naturally, his fingers tracked through her long blond waves. As moans from onscreen filled his room, he reminded himself why he never watched these movies in the presence of others.

      “I hope you know I’m not responsible for any… accidental swelling.” He muttered, keeping the words between him and Erica. She cackled, purposefully re-positioning her head further up his thighs. It’s just like her to cause him more pain.

      “I’m just kidding.” Tilting her head, she shot him a tiny smile, yet eyes crinkled in concern. “Just warn me when the situation…arises.” He chuckled, useless against a solid innuendo. “You’re welcome. I’ll be here all night.” She squeezed his knee and they focused on the movie.

* * *

 

 

* * *

       “Oh no, little cousin. You wanted this. You betta sing with me.” Leal bellowed over Jackson’s favorite Adele song bleeding through the speakers. After three long, torturous hours of Queen B, they finally switched it up and now Leal expected him to participate. Just wrong. Behind his own shades, he shot him a dry look while kicking his feet back up on the dashboard. “Alright fine. More B it is. I could go all day with the Bay.” His free hand reached for the eject button, sending Jackson into a panic.

       “OK! Ok." Anything but more of that, he begged, slapping Leal's hand away from the CD player. When the time came, he didn't think. Only sang. With the windows downs and cars alongside of him, he belted the chorus. "NEVER MIND I’LL FIND… SOMEONE LIKE YOUUUUUU!” He twisted his mouth in an O. 

       "yESSS!" Leal busted with laughter when everyone else around them shot him estranged glances. Except for a tiny kid beaming with his face and hands mushed against the window of his mom's red caravan. Together, he and Leal gave these people something to really look at. Flying down the highway, they sang along, intentionally butchering the serenading voice of his secret wife.  

       "DON'T FORGET ME, I BEG. I'LL REMEMBERR YOU SAID. Sometimes it last in love but sometimes it hurts insteaddd!" Laughing, his throat tinkled from all the screaming. Still, he accepted the next verse as a solo, using his empty Coke bottle as a microphone. Percy barked, feeding off their excitement. They used him as a backup singer in the last chorus. The amount of askance they received from other drivers fueled his passion for this song. As long as they never spoke of this again, he'd do this for the rest of the trip. Eventually, the song slid into another lesser known slower ballad. (Of course, he knew it though.) 

       "I knew you had it in you." With his own scratchy tone, Leal declared, turning down the volume to an acceptable volume. Abruptly, he sniffed the air. "Do you smell that?" Leal asked with a choked sigh. Grinning, Jackson peered over at him and cackled at his pinched expression. Using his steer-free hand, Leal clogged his nose. Nothing like a putrid smell to ruin a good karaoke session. Stiles would be devastated. He'd yet to smell this off-putting scent. With the windows down, Jackson tilted his nose to the air, catching the dirt and burning rubber of the 18-Wheeler in front of them. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, he quite enjoyed the acrid scent of rubber slicing against heated asphalt.

       “I don't smell it." He concluded, leaning back against the seat. Leal scoffed with his head poked outside the window. Bless the heavens for open road because otherwise, they would have crashed by now. He rolled his eyes, now accustomed to his cousin's antics. He behaved like a twenty-five year old forty percent of the time. The other sixty percent, Jackson felt as if he was the older one.

        "Seriously?" He exclaimed, stuffing his head back into the truck. "You don't smell that?" He tried one more time, using his better scent to pinpoint the different smells whipping through the car. Just like before, the dust and rubber stood at the forefront of his nostrils. He dug deeper, probably making Derek proud, wherever he was. He caught the lingering onions from their lunch at this roadside diner an hour back. He smelled caking mud and soiled sweat, probably from Leal's work boots on the floor behind him. There was even a week old Sweet Pea perfume interwoven into his seat, most likely from his fiancée.  

        Underneath all of that, barely noticeable to his nose, he finally caught said aroma tearing up his cousin’s nostrils. Whipping around to the back seat, Jackson caught Percy shielding his face under his paw. A trickling waterfall of piss from his hinny glided over the black leather as it pooled at the bottom. “Oh god.” What started as a suppressed chuckle progressed into a laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Snorting wildly, his head rolled to the front.

       “What is it?” His cousin shouted, sneaking quick glances to the back. Groans spilled from his mouth as the unusual moisture of his truck carpet. "Seriously?! The website said every three hours. We stopped TWENTY MINUTES AGO!" He threw his cap on the dashboard to run angry hands though his matted hair. Jackson, still snickering, watched his whole body react. Arms whipped around the steering wheel. Shoulders thrashed with the wild motion of his limbs. Menacing eyebrows furrowed, reaching heights unimaginable. The greatest part? The wide-eyed look of utter disbelief at the sign to their left. Next town. Thirty miles away.

       For half an hour, Leal pushed the truck to 83mph. His anger gave way to a hurt pout three miles from the exit. Every few feet, he tossed a betrayed grimace to Percy who grinned back at him. His little fucker was the greatest. Finally, they swerve off the exit in Fernley, NV. A place so small, tourists would look at it and go ‘aww, how quaint.’ However small, they did have a Wal-Mart. The truck stopped with a jolt as Leal tossed a twenty-dollar bill in his lap.

       “What am I supposed to do with this?”

       “Buy some damn cleaning supplies.” He grunted, shutting off the engine. “And some candy.” Leal added as an afterthought, ruining his whole image. Chuckling, he headed for the store. He returned fifteen minutes later with whatever products the Auto-Care people threw his way, McDonald’s napkins, and an entire bag of random candy. He half-expecting Percy to have “accidentally” run off in his absence. Leal, leaning against the hood, tied Percy to the metal shopping cart contraption and let him weave in and out of the poles. "I gave him his meal already and he pooped. Thank god for that." 

        "Thanks." He laughed, scrubbing the mess until the smell of chemicals masked Percy’s urine. After that, he flushed it with water, knowing Percy might lick the seat. Losing his car and most of his money sucked. He’d fuck up an entire town if Percy died because of some spray. “Good enough?” He called over his shoulder when he felt Leal behind him. Bent on his knees in the truck, he leaned back to display the final product. As Leal growled "yes," Fernley locals eyed them dubiously while they passed. Like he gave a flying fuck about these people. Please. He ignored their nosy gazes. 

        "No more." He spanked Percy's tiny black and gray knob of a tail. No one had to know he secretly splattered kisses over his little head. Perce preened under his adoration. He smirked at him as he pulled back. To finally prove his point, he shot a quick photo to Danny and a Snap Chat to Stiles. (Since, he promised he'd use this ridiculous app.) 

 **LOL. fine. u win.** Danny responded as he hopped back into the passenger's seat. 

        "Since we're already here, Taco Bell?" Leal asked, already headed towards the dilapidated Taco Bell. Despite the technicolor paint chipping and vines creeping up their cream walls, five cars waited in the drive-thru. Then again, who was he to turn down free food? He inhaled the processed beef and yeast. At least, it smelled fresh. His phone illuminated with Stiles's reply when the bored girl at Window #2 handed them their Taco 12-pack. 

        "Aww. Look at yawl making it work."  

        "Just shut up and drive." Chuckling into his first Doritos Locos Tacos, he shielded his phone away from Leal's nosy gaze. The hearty laugh spilling from Leal's mouth told him all was forgiven on the Percy front. Goodbye, Fernley, NV. The town disappeared in the rear view mirror as the speedometer soared up, up, up. They hit 80, five mile above the speed limit. The conversation picked up only when the last taco paper crumpled in the box with the others. 

        "Hey now. You be nice to me." Leal exclaimed. "I'm makin a speech at your wedding and you'll want me to say something nice." 

        He choked on his sprite, sputtering at the rapid turn of events. "I'm a little young to be talking about marriage. When are you getting married, old man?"

        "Ha. Ha. We want to wait until after the baby's born. So date's been set for May 9." They both froze. "...shit. I just realized that's your birthday weekend. We'll make it work. You don't have to be in the wedding party if you don't wanna." 

        "I'm in the party?" 

        "Uh. duh. It's not too big. Just you, Ade, Z, my dad, two of my buddies from college, and Tiff's twin, Destin. We compromised. She's making Jessie a bridesmaid too." It took him a second to digest all those nicknames. Ade: Adrien. Z: Ezra. Jessie: Jessica. He guessed Tiff stood for Tiffany. Soon, they'd pick a nickname for him. God, he was apart of one of those families. He smiled to himself. He can just imagine stopping at his locker after the last bell rings and hearing  _"Jay! You got practice or you comin home with_ us?" across the corridor.Is it so bad that he really wants that? 

         "I'm cool with that." He decided. It's not like he can leave before the school year ends anyway. It feels like a big deal, him choosing them over Beacon Hills again. Yet, they don't make it one. Leal claps a strong hand over his shoulder and then restarts the Adele album.

 

 

* * *

         "Oohhhhhh. Stiles!" The pack shouted his name and he snapped up. Dammit. He missed another one cause he took one look down at him phone to check for any new notification. On the screen, the main dude and his dad sat at the kitchen table, staring down at the mutilated pie between them. As their drinking game stated, when someone in the movie mentioned masturbation, the last person to put their hands over their junk drinks. He glanced around the room, hoping for another failure. Nope. Even the girls, unashamed, laid quick fingers on their zippers.

        "But-but...I took the last one....Noo. I can't take anymore." He pleaded, groaning for mercy. This drink totaled six times his focus strayed from their makeshift drinking game.   

        "Nope. More chocolate milk for you, my friend." Boyd declared, as he, so helpfully, supplied Isaac with a plastic shot glass. His stomach curdled when the brown, murky liquid sloshed into the container. Danny abandoned his pizza long enough to pat him on the back. 

         "Don't think about it. Just do it." He offered, smirking behind his slice of pepperoni. Isaac brought the cup closer and closer to his mouth. All eyes, excited and mischievous, feasted on him. Oh god. He gulped, already tasting the day old milk before it touched his tongue. It was just curdled enough to make him regret not paying attention but, not enough to make him sick. He gagged on the pungent aroma invading his nostrils. Still, true to the game, he rid of it in one gigantic mouthful. He swore a small clump slid down his throat before disappearing into the netherworld of his body.  

          "Oh god. That's disgusting." Lydia groaned, clutching her stomach, much like the rest of the group. Imagine how he felt. He sneered at her playfully before snatching Erica's water bottle. 

         "So this probably won't help your concentration but look at his instagram." Allison piped up from her quiet corner of the room. Eerily, they all pulled out their phones in sync. The movie long forgotten. They raced to see who could reach his page the fastest. He whacked a hand against Erica's forehead when she tried to block his screen with her hair. 

         "Oh god, Stiles. You're going to cream your pants." Scott snickered, followed by the rest of the pack one at a time. Meanwhile, he was still having difficulty with his stupid password.  

        "What is so...you know what!? Nope." He snatched Erica's phone away, finally taking a glance at this mysterious post. 

         "Aww. He wants to meet you." Erica chortled, tossing back his unlock phone. Stiles glanced at his screen and gasped. Not only had she unlocked it, she followed the cousin they were "forbidden" to talk too. Not even a second later, his phone vibrated with a notification.  _that.boy.adrien_ started following you. _Great_ , he threw his head against the headboard in anguish,  _just great._

          "Now that we established Jackson's gonna beat ass when he comes back, can we please just finish this god-awful movie?" 

          "Well then, the Boyd has spoken." He giggled at his own bad joke, not caring that the pack shot him unimpressed glances.  Without another word, Danny pressed play and the movie commenced once again. His phone vibrated at minute later. He toggled between his phone and the movie. Was gulping another shot of spoiled chocolate milk worth talking to Jackson? _a million times yes.  
_

Jackson: i thought we talked about this.  

Stiles: idiot. im not gonna run away with your cousin besides erica did it.

Jackson: how is she STILL pissing me off! ugh. fuckin hate her.

Stiles: lol no you don't and you let her.

Jackson: yeah I do. what are you guys doing?

           Fifteen minutes later, he drank another shot of milk. Thirty minutes after that, he drank another. He drank and drank until all that chocolate milk found its way to the toilet. The next movie, American Pie: Band Camp, the cartoon of milk magically transformed into a three month old bottle of apple juice. Good thing, they ostracized him from the game.

* * *

        He and Leal carved an odd routine revolving the 'truck bed'. He'd sleep in the truck bed for a few hours and then Leal slept for a few hours. Of course, that meant actually learning how to drive this monstrosity of a truck. His first time behind the wheel turned into a game of 'how many cars can you hit?' Fighting a wicked smile, Leal forced him to navigate through the rest area parking lot until he was no longer a threat to fellow vehicles. Other travelers halted their sluggish trek to the dim bathrooms in favor of watching him struggle with a ton of steel and cracked leather.  With each swirl of the steering wheel, he got the hang of it. They tested his progress on a stretch between two cities in Missouri. After he passed Leal's test, Jackson drove by himself for hours, only stopping for Percy's bathroom breaks. 

        With this pattern, they drove two days without stopping at a motel once. Coffee, good music, junk food, and the occasional banana replenished their energy. Forget showers and nice clothes. By Monday, he'd worn three variations of his BHHS Lacrosse sweats. He didn't even bother with contacts. Glasses didn't burn your retinas after seven hours of staring at disconnected white lines. Forty-five minutes from the Kentucky border, in a small dusty town in Indiana, they decided to stop for actual food. So many burgers, pizzas, tacos, and fries invaded his body that he'd collapse without at least a salad. 

        "What about that place? It has Gator." From his comfy set up in the passenger seat, Leal poked the glass at a forest green billboard on their left. _Zedekiah's Bayou: Creole Kitchen._ The sign read with an alligator chomping on the word 'Kitchen' with its jagged chompers. Jackson rolled his eyes and focused back on the road. "Hey! Stop that face. Gator is damn delicious. Tender and moist. Better than chicken even."

        "The point of this was to eat healthy." He grumbled, already inching the truck to the exit. The scent trail of fried meat and cajun spices guided him to the restaurant. Cars and trucks filled the gravel parking lot. They circled the restaurant three times before a large enough spot magically appeared. Leal waltzed away to grab them a table. Waiting for Perce to do his business, he considered calling Stiles, but four hours separated them now. Right now, Coach was barking obscenities at them. Monday morning practice turned an already crabby morning Stiles into the devil. Especially since today marked his first official practice as team captain for their last three games of playoffs.  He texted him instead. 

 **Not killing the freshmen is harder than it looks, isn't it? haha. good luck.**  He wrote, attaching an unkempt picture of himself.

        A row of fake chomping alligators greeted him at the entrance of Zedekiah's. This better be the best alligator ever, he chuckled to himself as two police officers strolled out the front door. Holding their to-go bags, one nodded at him while the other responded to a call on his radio. He gave an obligatory grin before sliding into the closing door. Natural light bounced off the deep purple, green, and golden walls forcing him to blink away the dimness. Clearly, no one else seemed to have a problem. Tables upon tables of customers laughed and chatted as they either waited for food or chomped on it. 

        "Table for one?" The hostess greeted him, grabbing a menu behind her and a silverware set. He scanned the immense dining area for Leal, looking for his bright red shirt among the crowd. 

         "Actually. I'm here with the guy who just came in. Straw hat. Red shirt. Jeans. Boots" He described the clothes Leal bounced out of the rest stop bathroom in this morning. She stared back at him through unimpressed slits as if he was speaking Old English. Scoffing under his breath, he just bypassed right on by her. New Orleans style portraits and trinkets cluttered the walls the further he ventured into the restaurant. Golden fleur-de-lys stenciled on the walls every few feet. Metallic Madi-Gras bead strung from the ceiling. He wondered if this was true New Orleans culture or just another case of commercialism at work.

         He found Leal outside, yapping away on his phone. Two cokes and waters sat on the table, one for each of them. Jackson slid into the seat opposite of him and Leal pointed to the plate of fried gator skewers in the middle of the table. If it tasted as badly as it smelled, he didn't want that coming anywhere near his taste buds. He declined, focusing on his own menu while eavesdropping on Leal conversation with his Aunt. He kept his expression nuetral since normal people can't hear both people on the phone perfectly.

_"Don't be late, Leal. Its a school night and several families have RSVP'd for the party."_

           "I know, mom." He sighed, rolling his eyes in the way people do when they're trying to apologize for their parents.  Jackson chuckled behind his laminated menu. "How did Bellamy do yesterday? They haven't posted the standings online yet."

 _"Sixth place but Mr. Yaris isnt too pissed about the outcome. He still wants to work with us which is good. But you don't worry your head about that now. We'll talk about all that tomorrow morning. I'm spending the morning out there with you and your father. You just worry about getting here at four without harming my nephew in the process. Oop. The caterers are here. Give Jackson my love!! And don't be late."_ She cut him off mid sentence. The call disconnected after that. Deciding between a salad and Gumbo or a salad and Shrimp Étouffée, Jackson cleared his throat.

           "Did you see they have some leaves for you to gnaw on? Oh and my mom says hey. She's kinda spazzing about your prodigal return." 

           "As she should. I'm a big fucking deal." 

           "Whatever you say." Leal smirked, rotating the gold ceramic plate between them. "You sure you don't want the last gator? Its good." Jackson didn't even dignify his question with a response. "Fine. More for me. We have to take a picture with the alligators outside. Tiff loves alligator. The baby not so much." He bit into the last gator on a stick. Before he denied that suggestion, their waitress arrived to take their orders. Leal smirked at him as he ordered his house salad and Shrimp Étouffée. Nope. He still wasn't doing it. 

* * *

       “Wakey Wakey.” Leal slapped his forehead until the word ‘sleep drifted from his vocabulary. His droopy eyelids screamed for cover as the afternoon sun blinded him. Damn. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He growled, slamming the sun visor into place. _Ahhh much better_ , he stretched in a satisfying yawn. Without the nuclear-bright beams, their surroundings snapped into focus. The last thing he remembered was heading towards Lexington, the “big city.” This did not resemble the big city. He glanced around. Miles of grass, forestry, tiny barns, and horses. Brown horses. Black horses. Burly horses. Baby horses. (Those quickly became his favorite, so cute and puny.) He watched a pair of baby horses gallivant around their momma with discreet wonder.  

       “Who needs this many horses? A butt only fits one.” He muttered as they sped down the open country road. Leal, fiddling with the radio, cackled as if he held a secret. Suddenly, they curved right onto an even wider road, hidden by a tunnel of trees. A few rays of amber sun spilled through the crown of trees, reminding him of the music festival. He smiled for a moment, letting the memory capture him before shoving it away.  A row of cars preceded them as they crawled down the winding road. “We making a rest stop for Percy or something?” Having heard his name, Percy perked up from his backseat throne and poked his head out the window.  

       “Rest stop?” Leal pivoted his way. “We’re here.”

       “What?” He pushed away from the chair, gaining a better view out the window. He gaped once a vast engraved stone sign popped into view. _Cambridge Point Equestrian Center_ were the words inscribed on the natural sandstone. A security guard waved them in without stopping them like all the other cars. “Very funny asshole. Let’s turn around before we get in trouble.” A slow, lazy yet entertained grin slithered over Leal’s face.

       “Just wait until you see the house. I have a place closer to the training facility a ways east but you’ll like it.” Chuckling, Leal executed the winding turns with ease, an expertise only from driving them every day. They passed acres of TV-worthy nature. Seriously, to his right, he saw a lake where the water glistened under the sunlight as a skein of geese circled overhead. “Soo, they’ll beat me if I bring you up these now cause we’re early. But, quick tour?”

       “Yea ok.”  

       The truck clanked down the road and Leal pointed to points of interests. “Let’s see.” He started, veering right instead of left like the other cars. “We have the client stables.” He flicked his head to the right, gesturing towards a row of green roofed, white buildings. A cluster of middle school girls in riding gear stood around their groomed horses. “If you’re down here, which I doubt you will be, you’ll see random people in these parts all the time. We board so they come and go.” Jackson nodded. “Over there’s the outdoor arena for shows and stuff. Then, those three giant buildings right there are the three indoor arenas. Shows are boredom killers if you have nothing to do. We like to laugh at the cocky squirts who suck.”

       “You’re horrible people.” He snorted, shaking his head.

       “Takes one to know one. The Wedding Barn is behind those buildings. **Never** leave your room if there’s a wedding, except for mine of course. They’ll coax you into all kinds of useless shit.”

       “It can’t be that bad.” He tossed him a dry look.

       “At this one wedding, the best man was too drunk off his ass to stand so they made me fill in cause we shared _similar_ frames. Just wait. You’ll learn. That’s the multi-purpose building.” He focused on the brick dome-like structure, surrounded by multicolored flowers and a horse water fountain. “Right now, the town rents it for a farmer’s market every Sunday. This one lady makes some bitchin ass fudge.” Good to know, he filed that thought away for never. They moved on to the “forbidden RV campsite” and the quaint Bed & Breakfast on top of the hill. “If you sucker up to Mrs. Taylor, the B&B manager, she’ll let you eat lunch there.” His head swelled at all the information. Percy’s eager barking didn’t help.

      “You said you guys have a dog right?”

      “Yeah. One. A Collie, but Valarie’s an old thing. She just roams around. Oh, and Sweet Pea, Jessica’s prissy cat but we pretend it don’t exist. Let’s just head up. I showed you most of it anyway. Besides the riding trails. Oh and the training facility but that’s boring stuff.”

      “And how would you know?”

      “I run it.” He smirked. They took a sharp left turn onto a narrow, private road. “I reckon you’ve never ridden a horse before?”

      “Nope.”

      “That just won’t fly here. We’ll blackmail Jessica into teaching you. She doesn’t know that Adrien told me about her new boyfriend…and girlfriend.”

      “Both?” Damn, that’s like him dating Stiles and Lydia… **at the same time**. He shuddered just thinking about that catastrophe.

      “And, you thought your relationship was complicated--Holy shit. Did they invite all of Lexington?” His gaze snapped towards the stream of cars leading up to the house. Oh, his dad wished he owned a place this prestigious. The white washed brick mansion expanded across the length of their wide circular driveway. Another bronze statue of a horse rearing on its hind legs decorated the middle. Jackson frowned at the forty or so vehicles covering the vast front lawn as people waltzed regally into the red front doors in evening gowns and tuxedos. His eyes drifted down at their sweatpants and t-shirts. Yeah…no way he was stepping foot in that house like this. “It’s rarely like this.” Leal murmured, just as shocked as him. “We’ll go around back. I wanna show you something anyway.” No one paid the clanking truck any mind when it pulled around back.

      He heard his final three cousins before he saw them, groaning about the people in their house. They posted on the side steps, leading to the open garage. Jessica, wearing a golden sparkly dress, crossed her ankles on the bottom row, toying with her curled dirty blond curls. Compared to his innocent photo, she did have that sorority girl look to her now. Adrien and Ezra, several rows above her, squirmed in their classic cut black suits. They tousled as Ezra tried to remove the camouflage cap covering Adrien’s head. They popped up once they spotted them.

       “Cause god forbid, they wait like everybody else.” Leal joked, pulling out the keys while beaming at his siblings. When he didn’t move to open the door, Leal clapped a comforting hand down onto his shoulder. “Save the anxiety for the adults. This is the easy part.” With a welcoming grin, he hopped from his already opened door and into his siblings’ arms.

      “Eww, you stink.” Jackson heard Jessica whine as he prepped Percy’s leash.

      “I know you gotta wee-wee but, let’s try not to piss on the nice people, yeah?” He muttered, leaning around quickly to click the metal carabineer around Percy’s new red collar. His baby huffed, meaning ‘I do what I want.’ Oh god, they’d hate him already. Exhaling, he opened the door, already anticipating the explosion of energy from him. One minute they sat in the truck, the next Percy forced him in the grass as he sprayed. “Fucking gross, Perce.” He smacked his back, glaring down at the darkened gray urine droplets on his suede Sperry’s. “Well, these are gone.”

       “Does he always do that?” A voice, cracking with puberty, rang behind him. He spun around to find Ezra teetering on the edge of the grass, eyeing Percy dubiously. The kid easily surpassed him in height, like an ever-grinning skeptical giant. Jackson smoothed the sweat from his hands as he tugged Percy along.

       “Only when I tell him not to.” He offered, masking his embarrassment with a smile.

       Flicking his hair from his eyes, his baby cousin grinned wider as he let Percy smell his hand. “I’m Ezra but they call me Z. Mom’s been blabbing about you nonstop for days.”

       “Yeah?” He smiled. That made him feel a lot less weird about this whole situation. “Jackson.” They shook hands. “How bad is it in there?”

       “Ugh. So horrible. She invited the Rose twins and they keep following me around.”

       “Identical?” He asked, leaning back against the hood of the car. “Easy. Just call one by the wrong name and say you always thought they were the prettiest. The other one will secretly still want you but they’ll avoid you out of twin solidarity.”

       “Shit, that’s smart. Later!” With his hair flopping in the cold, Ezra rushed through the door, much to the confusion of his brothers and sister. Jackson smirked; one down; two to go.

       “What was that all about?” Leal questioned him, raising an accusing eyebrow. He shrugged, not wanting to take responsibility if it went horribly wrong.  

       “Aww, you are so cute.” Jessica flounced over to him, her tiny sparkly dress rippling around her. She mushed his cheeks between her fingers, as if he was six. She was only nineteen, two years older than he was. “I bet you just get all the girls.”

       “I have a boyfriend.” He declared at the same time Adrien murmured, “ _ahh so that’s Stiles._ ” Jackson smiled at his pleased grin.

       “Anyway, you hold on to that boyfriend.” She said, waving her hands wildly in the air. “The play around here is sorry. I’m telling you they lie and cheat but they’re too damn irresistible.”

       “That’s why she can’t chose just one.” Adrien winked, throwing one arm around his shoulder. Jackson glanced at him, smirking. The dude looked ridiculous in a ball cap and suit, but he saw how they were bro babies growing up. They shared that same smarmy, jackass attitude.

       “You’re just jealous I get more tail than you.” She sneered. “Nobody’s touched him since Avery Plum told the entire school he gave her Gonorrhea over the summer.” Muttering into his ear, Jessica jumped away before Adrien could grab her. With an evil chuckle on her lips, she strutted into the house.

       “God, I hate females.” Adrien struck the truck’s upper left tire, his entire mood curdled. Bizarre, he watched him reign in his anger as if someone held up a mirror. With the exception of his surprisingly not awful chinstrap beard, they could be brothers instead of cousins. “You know how many dudes that slut’s fucked?”

       “Ade!” Leal scolded, smacking him upside the head. His cap toppled to the ground but he caught it with his polished leather shoes before it hit the tarmac.

       “What? I’m just sayin. She’s mad cause I didn’t take advantage of her drunk ass like everybody else. Good for you, dude. Maybe I should get a fuckin’ boyfriend.” God, he hoped not. Stiles might take the first flight out. They shuffled in place, waiting to see what he’d do next. “Talk to you later man.” He cupped a strong palm over his shoulder before breezing past.

        “Um, what just happened?” He glanced around at the empty spaces where his two cousins used to stand.

        “That would be your family. Just so you know, I didn’t plan that one bit. Human nature, baby.” Leal laughed, guiding him over to the row of automobiles. “This way.” They passed several miniature golf carts, a Toyota Prius with pink and blue frilly Greek letters on them (Jessica), two non-distinct crossovers, and an old Chevy truck he immediately knew was Adrien’s. Who else would have a bumper sticker that read, **don’t ask to borrow my truck and I won’t ask to borrow your girlfriend.** Absolutely no one. Chuckling, he snapped a picture and shot it off to Stiles and Danny with the caption, _‘Adrien’s car.…not a hillbilly. Just an asshole lol._ Leal, noticing he paused behind Adrien’s truck, cracked a smile. “I keep telling him the wrong person’s gonna see that.”

         “Nah. I like it.” If he had a car like this, he’d do something equally stupid. He never marked the Porsche because it spoke for itself. Well, not anymore. His poor baby. 

         “The truck or the sticker?” Leal scrutinized him for his answer.

         “Both.” He answered honestly, tugging Percy away from one of the golf carts.

         “Good. Cause this one’s yours.” He pointed to the final truck. A sleek red Ford F-150 with silver trim waited for them untouched in the line of cars. “You like? They just picked her up. We figured a Porsche was useless out here but this baby will get you anywhere.” Leal’s words were a rush in his ear, as his hands caressed its sleek aluminum body. Finally, he understood why Stiles’s refused his gifts; he didn’t feel worthy of the forty thousand dollar truck. “Come look at the back.” He trailed around to the back and over to where Leal stood at the rear. At the bottom of his back window sat his own personal bumper sticker. _Eat. Sleep. Lacrosse._ Minimalist pictures above each word. “Just cause this is football country doesn’t mean everybody’s gotta like it right?” He tried (and failed) to hide his smile, trailing his fingers the white decal.

         “It’s too much.” He sputtered, the irony of the situation not escaping him. Being on the receiving end of this was awkward.

         “You gotta get around right? I’m usually traveling with work. Jessie’s rarely comes home and Ade’s out all hours of the night. While I don’t doubt you won’t be right there with him, you’ll make your own friends and want to do your own things. Besides, you have to work it off just like the rest of us, if that eases your mind.”

         “Work it off?”

         “Yeah. They make us pitch in for a few months. Ade’s still doing his. He helps out up at the B&B on Tuesdays and Thursdays so…what do you say?” He said hell yes at the bumper sticker. Nodding his head, he laughed as Leal enveloped him in a rowdy hug. “Yes! And, suburbia boy joins the country folk. We need to document this for Stiles like yesterday.”

         Jackson watched a full-fledge adult skip gleefully to the driver’s door. Opening the door, he switched on the engine just enough to draw the front windows. They switched places; Leal plopped down, taking ahold of Percy, while Jackson stepped up into the midnight black interior of his new car. Sitting this far up from the ground would take getting used to but he loved the large touch entertainment system. Fisting the steering wheel, he smiled per Leal’s order.

         “Sent. The keys are yours and the camouflage one unlocks the house doors. Ade’s idea.” Shaking his head, he snorted, rolling up the windows. Leal stepped back as he locked up. “Look, I know this goes without sayin but it’s yours. When you go home, in a few months, it’ll still be yours. It will always be yours.” He didn’t have to say, ‘we’ll never take it away.’ Jackson heard the underlining message anyway.

         “Thanks for this. All of it.” Jackson smiled fondly around him. He’ll never say his parents hadn’t provided for him because they did. Yet, the feeling of warmth he felt here surpassed all those years of hollow cash flow. Leal ran his knuckles over his fuzzy head, snickering as he growled.

         “Come on, lets show Percy his new home and then we’ll find something to wear. Tonight, you can raid Adrien’s closet. I bribed some of the guys from work with off days if they help with unloading so don't worry about that.” He pushed him towards the door as his phone vibrated.

Stiles: lol. Love it.

Stiles: Holy fuck! Leal sent me ur new truck. (haha that rhymes)

Stiles: I snagged myself a sexy country dude

Stiles: If u don’t pick up an accent, I will b mad.

Stiles: Have fun 2night. Call me if ur not too tired. love you.

Jackson: You’re an idiot lol. Can’t pick up an accent in 5 months.

Jackson: Love you too. Skype when all these people leave?

Stiles: it’s a date.

* * *

        When a blue dusk finally settled over their party, Jackson counted three guest still lingering amongst the white streamers and ‘Welcome Home’ balloons. You’d think watching the caterers breakdown their booths would send a universal ‘get the fuck out’ message. Nope. He sighed, throwing his arm over the back of his chair. He wasn’t the only one anxious to watch their elegant butts sway up the patio stairs and through the wide double doors. An entire table of them jittered impatiently. Hiding underneath the one gazebo furthest from the party, he and his cousins counted down the seconds until their freedom. 

        “Oh no you don’t.” His aunt had declared when she caught them trying to escape one hour into the party. “Not until all of our guests have left.” A couple snagged her attention before she commenced what he thought was a motherly lecture. “Jackson, don’t let them influence you. Eat. Meet some of your classmates.” She gave him the warmest smile and gripped his body in a tight hug for the fifth time before waltzing towards her guests. They’ve sat at this table ever since. At least, a tiny fireplace embedded into brick kept them from freezing to death in the cold November air.

        “Son. Why are we still hereee?” In unison, they lethargically acknowledged Adrien’s dramatic groan. He brought his fist down onto the wooden picnic table with a thump, dismantling their mound of discarded paper plates. Leftover mini sandwiches and shrimp tales catapulted into the air before plopping down on the table. “Seriously, though. How many times does Mr. L need to tell mom about his divorce.” His voice muffled from being pressed against the table. Jackson glanced over at the man in question, clutching his aunt’s hand as he blurted accusations about his cheating wife. “No one cares.”

        “He does.” Jackson replied, chuckling at the man’s misfortune. Ezra, sitting beside him, laughed over the sound of him shredding his water bottle label.

        “Well, I got plans tonight so they need to do this over the phone. Like normal people.”

        “You? Got plans?” Jessie teased her brother, barely glancing up from her phone. She sat perched on the lap of her boyfriend. At least he assumed this beefy sun-burnt-in-the-winter dude was one half to her polyamorous relationship. “Tell us, Ade. What plans could you possibly have on a Tuesday night?”

         “Why you all up in my business? I’m not asking why you and homeboy here so ready to leave.” He shot back, sneering playfully.

         “Yawl. Can we not act like idiots on his first night?” Leal interjected with a forkful of mixed veggies halfway to his mouth, stopping the argument before it blossomed into a full on bitch fest. He shrugged, indifferent to their bickering. They provided him with entertainment. Before they attacked, Z startled in his chair.

        “Oh. Oh. Look.” He exclaimed, pointing a finger at the elderly couple, sitting by the koi pond. His leg bounced in anticipation as the man gently rose to help his wife stand. “Oh god. It’s happening.” Z muttered, putting a smile on his face. Giving a collective wave of innocence, hey watched gleefully as the pair shuffled through the patio door. He exhaled once the doors clicked in place. Two down. One to go. They glanced at Mr. L, now crying, and sighed.

       “So, Jackson.”

       “Hmm.” He pivoted to face Leal, tossing his sixth empty plate with the others. Before continuing, he took a pull from the beer they smuggled past his aunt and uncle.

       “Meet anybody you think you’d chill with at school?”

       “Uh-” _Did he? Nope._ Wait, there was that one guy in front of him in the drink line. He cracked a joke Jackson actually understood. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember his name.“That one guy. What was his name?” He tapped the table to get Adrien’s attention. Ade grunted as a response. “That dude in front of us in the line.”

       “Ew. TJ and them? Really? Dickbag.” He scoffed, stealing a swig from Leal’s beer.

       “Yeah. Good luck with that.” Jessie, for the first time all night, agreed with the words from his mouth. He couldn’t help the confused expression warping his face. “Oh honey. Every school has a status quo. At the very top, obviously you have your dumbass footballers. No offense baby.” She patted her boy toy’s thigh when he glared up at her. “Then, the cheerleaders. The preps who act like cheerleaders. The basketball players. Anyone associated with the basketball players. Your cute but scary country girls. Then, the country boys. After that you have the wannabe country boys.”

        “Wannabe?”

        “You know the ones living in mansions but they come to school like they spent all morning tending the farm.” Behind her phone, she pointed to Adrien, sending a wave of laughter over the table. “Anyway, the list keeps going and going until you get all the way to the bottom and right below the bible thumpers are TJ’s crowd. Yeah, they got million dolla estates and fancy winning thoroughbreds but everybody actually hates them cause they’re arrogant and always smell like horse shit. Unless it’s changed in the months since I’ve graduated.”

        “Nope. Even freshman are liked more than them.” Z offered, nodding his head in agreement. That made zero sense to him. In Beacon Hills, if you’re rich and good-looking, people like you whether you’re a dick or not. Exhibit A: him. 

        “But, aren’t you horse people? Don’t you smell like horse shit too?” He pondered aloud. Chaos rose as hands flew at his body. He laughed uncontrollably at the multiple hands tickling him. He cried mercy when someone found his true tickle spot. Even through the charcoal suit, his side burned. “Ok. Ok. I take it back.” He wheezed, brushing the hands from his body.

        “For your information, I smell only of pineapples and sex.”

        “She does.” What’s his face added, speaking for the first time in hours. Their faces warped at the images burning into their skulls.

        “That’s disturbing. Please never say that again.” The guys laughed while she and her boyfriend shrugged, unashamed. “but really? What’s the difference between you and them? I know all of this,” he whirled his finger in the air, “is costing a couple mil and I bet you at least one of those stables has a Thoroughbred in them…whatever that is.” In his peripheral, Leal’s extremely pregnant fiancée wobbled outside, just having woke from her nap in one of the guest bedrooms. As expected, he propelled from his chair when he spotted her struggling down the steps.

        “Well youngins. As fun as this is, the beautiful bride beckons. Jacks, I’ll dropped by ‘round dinner tomorrow to check up on you. In the meantime, you have my number. Use it.” He patted each of them on the noggin before jogging away. “Be good!” He shouted over his shoulders as he led her back inside the house. With Leal’s swift departure, his question floated away from their brains.

         “We might as well head off too, boys. Long drive and all.” Jessie, following his lead, gathered their things (sans the trash on the table.)

         “Girl, don’t play.” Adrien scoffed. “Your school is thirty minutes away…in traffic.”  He and Z laughed at their bitch faces.   

         “Don’t hate. Cuzzo, call me if you want to hit up some actual parties.” She said, enveloping him in a tight hug. A fruit pineapple scent wafted from her curly hair and he suppressed a violent shiver. She extended the same hug to Z and flicked Adrien’s ear before strutting her boyfriend right past his aunt, too busy consoling Mr. L to see them.

         “Ugh. This is bull. I have homework. Later.” The littlest one whisked away too, leaving only him and Ade.

         Because they were all assholes, Ade shouted, “DON’T BE LATE OR JACKSON’S LEAVING YOU.” Z flicked the middle finger at them and dodged inside before his aunt caught him escaping. “And, then there were two.” He chuckled. His head shook from side to side, blurring the lines of his easy smile. “Oh yeah, you’re driving us to school tomorrow.”

         “I figured with the whole ‘Jackson’s leaving you’ bit.” He smirked, drumming his fingers across the table. “Go to your party thing. I’m gonna chill out here some.”

         “You should come. Drew’s stepsister has the sexiest friends.” He wiggled his eyebrows. They stopped midway when he remembered, “Oh right. I forgot. The elusive Stiles. So, is that like a thing? Are you gay? Wait, is that offensive. Shit, that’s probably offensive.”

         He laughed, waving away his remorseful plea. “Chill out. It’s fine. He’s the only guy I’ve been with so who knows. Bi, probably.”

         “Well, whatever you are, you’re chill with us. Hell who even needs labels. I say, fuck what you want and fuck those hatin on what you wanna fuck.” Ade nodded his head as if the words from his mouth were gospel. “Anyway, if you’re sure, Imma take off. You remember the way upstairs?” He nodded, if he didn’t he’ll roam until he found it. “Cool. The towel closet is behind my door. Use anything of mine if you can’t find yours. Later. Tell Stiles, I said hi.” Releasing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he flicked his head back as a goodbye. Jackson watched him saunter over to his mom, kissed her crown goodnight, and left. She let him too, grinning up at him. He knew the favorite in the bunch.

         Despite the cold, he shifted further into his chair, kicking his feet up on the empty chair across from him. Without all the commotion and the people, he could see himself chilling out here sometimes. As the clean-up crew dusted away the last reminiscence of their evening, his gaze trailed over the backyard in its natural habitat: the pool burning a bright cerulean from the lights dotting the walls, the fire pit struggling on its final embers, the empty tables and couches mixed among the impressive landscaping. It reminded him of Derek’s place in that respect, crafted with every little detail yet, still homey.

         “Peaceful, huh? I like to come out here sometimes when things get crazy.” His eyes shot open at the slightly familiar voice. Thanks to the outdoor lightning, he could make out the tall, lithe frame of his uncle, standing in front of his table. Jackson grinned softly and nodded his head. Taking that as an offer, he grabbed a seat. “I apologize my children left you. We have to remind them of their manners often.”

         He chortled, shaking his head. “It’s ok. I could use the quiet.”

         “Yeah well sitting in a car for days with Leal will do that to you.” The man chuckled, showing his perfect set of straight teeth. “Are you settling in well?”

         “Yes sir. Uhh…thank you for letting me stay here and for the truck.”

         “Please, call me Uncle Brian and besides, it’s the least we can do. I just wanted to let you know you can come to Reyna and me for anything. Things get busy around here but one of us is usually available. I’m sure your cousins will fill you in on all the totally unfair house rules so I’ll let you get back to the quiet.”

         “Have a good night, si-Uncle Brian.”

         His uncle laughed. “You too, Jackson. Have a good day at school tomorrow.” With one final smile, he rapped his calloused knuckles on the table and strolled away, the air of serenity drifted behind him. Not long after, his aunt flittered over to give him a goodnight hug when Mr. L finally took the hint. When the door finally closed behind her, he finally achieved his alone time. If he never saw another human being for another year, it wouldn’t be soon enough. Except for Stiles, of course. His smile grew wider as he relieved his phone from the clutches of his deep pockets. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm coming, guys. Don't give up on me just yet. I love you all! Seriously. All the love.


	17. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School. Work. Stiles.  
> School. Work. Stiles.  
> School. Work. Field Party?  
> Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! (Typical disclaimer on photos here)

       He and Percy woke to a sudden banging on the door. They groaned together, burying further under the covers. A violent chill swept over his body at the ridiculous cold temperature of his room.

       “Yo, sleeping beauty. Wake the hell up. We’re late.” Adrien gargled, mouth filled with toothpaste. Jackson grunted loud enough to stop him from continuing. A moment later, silence returned. He swiped his hand over the laptop mushed underneath his right side. The screen brightened, illuminating the time. 8:10am. Dammit. School started at 8:40. Jackson slumped around the maze of boxes to reach their bathroom. The door leading to Adrien’s room opened as he lethargically prepped his shower water. “What time did you even go to sleep?” Ade asked him, relaxing against his door frame. “You look like the dead.” 

       Spraying water on his face, he shrugged. “You?” The word clawed its way out of his mouth, presenting itself as more of a grumble of sounds. “I didn’t hear you come back.” Not that he could hear much of anything over the sound of Stiles’s laughing. **  
**

“That’s cause I didn’t.” He smirked, pushing off the wall in his plain black tee and tattered jeans. “Chop chop. Dad made breakfast. We leave soon enough and we can stop for actual coffee.” He clapped twice, the sound bouncing off the walls. Jackson winced at the reverberation as his cousin swaggered back into his room. Jackson heard his door slam and heavy feet pound down the steps. Yeah, today already felt like a shitty day.

* * *

 

       Where in the magical handbook of high school did it specify, “All newbie must adhere to late arrival on their first day?” Nowhere. Jackson drummed his fingers against the side of his empty Americano. He’d sat on the creaky wooden bench outside the guidance counselor’s office for forty minutes now. Make that forty-one minutes. The wall clock, at the end of the hall, struck over the twelve. Other than the disturbing amount of ‘drugs are bad’ posters, he didn’t have much to entertain him. He tried eavesdropping on the girl currently meeting with Dr. Winters, but stopped when the yelling pierced his ear drums.

      After that, he played a game of ‘Slacker, Teacher’s Pet, or Tiny bladder.’ Every time a kid passed him with a hall pass, he categorized them. So far, the Slackers, who ambled around with their blue passes high in the air, trumped both the Teacher’s Pet, idiots actually eager to deliver the attendance to the front office, and the Tiny Bladders, losers shuffling to the nearest bathroom.

       He added one more to Crew Slacker as the door finally opened. Snatching his bag off the ground, Jackson bounced up. The girl, Maria, stormed out the room, her midnight with its hot pinkish tips pillowing around her. “Let’s go.” She pushed him away in a grumble. Little firecracker, she was. Eager to leave himself, Jackson complied.

       Behind them, Dr. Winters called out, “Have a good day, Jackson. Come see me anytime.” Her voice wrapped around the corner to reach them. Maria scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulders. They walked alongside each other for a few minutes before he grew curious.

        “They threaten you to be my first day buddy or something?” He question when they entered into another section of the building. She glared at him through tiny slits. In response, she slapped a manila folder against his chest. Someone scrawled his name on the label. Inside contained his schedule, locker number and combination, a list of after school clubs, sports, and an ambiguous map of the school. He lingered on the sports’ chart, making a note of swim tryouts next Monday.

        “Try to keep up. I’m only saying this once.” She started as they stepped down four wide steps. “Clay is five floors. Your classes are on the top two. Just follow the numbers on the door. It’s not that hard. Library’s on the second floor. Cafeteria’s on the first. You have lunch C.” Her voice echoed in the staircase. When he made a comment about her cheery disposition, she side-eyed him, damning his existence in a slur of Spanish. He smirked, actually finding her animosity refreshing after his night of ass kissers.

        “So, how’d they rope you into this?”

        Her face loosened in a smile, but only for a second. “What? I’m not welcoming enough for you?” She whipped back. Jackson chuckled, giving her an ‘is-that-a-real-question’ look. He waited patiently for his answer. “Winters scored me a job at your folks’ place. This is her cashing in another favor.” _Sucks,_ he thought, curious about her job. He kept those comments to himself when they came to a stop. “Here we are. Your locker. Winters said your books are in there.” She pointed to locker 3481, a top locker. “Your homeroom.” He glanced from his locker to the class almost directly across from it. As homeroom ended thirty minutes ago, Mr. Feltman taught his first class, something with coordinate planes. “Your next class is up those stairs and to the right. Anything else?” She gave him a second and a half to answer. "Good. Later newbie. I'm sure we'll see each other around." Her hair whooshed in a veil of blacks, pinks, and dark purples when she swiveled on her heels. Jackson watched The tornado headed off to destroy somebody else.

      He basked in the silence, resting his forehead against the cool metal. Two minutes later, two slackers fell out of a nearby classroom. Sighing, he added them to the final tally before starting on his combination. 

Slackers: 21

Teacher’s Pet: 9

Tiny Bladders: 4

New Kid: 1

* * *

       "Only five more minutes. Stay with me guys." His Spanish 3 teacher, Profe, pleaded over the increased chatter in the room. The closer the clock ticked to 3:40 the louder the buzz grew. Jackson sat at his tiny desk closest to the bank of windows on the right hand side. None paid any attention to his phone propped up against his stack of textbooks. A yawned ripped out of him as he watched Stiles in his own class. Knowing his scheduled, he was at the end of third period English. Though they muted one another, Stiles made ridiculous face at him, hoping to make him laugh during class. He cracked a smile, still denying his attempts. Just as Stiles mouthed a slow stream of words, the bell zinged over the room, yanking him to his feet. He grabbed his belongings, pocketed Stiles, and followed the flow of people out the room. Bypassing his locker, he didn't stop until his left side of his face felt the warmth of the sun. 

       Other kids ready to get the hell out like him, raced to either their cars or the line of buses waiting in front of the school. He dragged himself to the senior lot where they parked his truck this morning. Inside, he breathed in the scent of new leather and the lemon car refresher hanging from his rear view mirror. _Ahh, the silence of solitude._ He pushed down his driver's seat for a quick nap while he waited for his cousins. He couldn't say how long he laid there but, it felt good to sleep after days of driving.   

        "Hello! You left me in your pocket, asshole." Naturally, Stiles ruined his wonderful nap. "Actually. Your butt is banging. Leave me be." Stiles added. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, Jackson smiled lethargically at the camera. He, Scott, and Isaac had scored a study room in the library. "Hey. Be right back!" Scott reluctantly took the phone when Stiles handed him off. He actually felt a niggling of delight to see them, or at least familiar faces. "McCall. Isaac. What's up?" He afforded them once he toggled off mute.

         "Dude. You should get some sleep." Scott said, leaning closer into the camera. So close Jackson spotted nose hairs and a few buggers. "You look awful." 

         "Always a pleasure, Scott." He sneered jokingly at them. "Where'd the butt king go?" 

        Isaac snickering, opened his mouth to respond but a voice that didn't belong inside of him floated through the truck.  "Who's the butt king?" Scott and Isaac glanced around their study room in the library, searching for the new voice. "Seriously. I've been here for like ten minutes." When the little adolescent voice, struck again, Jackson snapped to look at Z in the passenger seat. He stared back at him with a concerned head tilt.   "You ok?" Z asked, fiddling with his book bag strings.  

         "How long have you been there?" 

         "Are you serious." Z looked around as if searching for cameras hidden in the floorboard. "We had a whole conversation 'bout Ade skipping five minutes ago."

         "Told ya bro. You need some sleep." 

         "Shut it, McCall." 

         "Can I drive?" Z asked, his eyes blown wide and innocent.

        "Sure. After we get you a license. Guys, I'm leaving. Tell Stiles, I'll call him later." He ended the call as they tried persuading him to stay. Flipping his phone to the side console, Jackson backed out cautiously, careful not to smash someone on his first day. Miraculously, they escaped the death trap parking lot. To keep himself awake, they stopped for Diary Queen on the way back to the house, ordering an Oreo Cheesecake Blizzard for Z and a large strawberry milkshake for himself. He absolutely did not press napkins into his cousin's chest after he spilled some on the seat.

         By the time, they pulled up to the house, Jackson bounced in his seat. "Hey. You wanna do something?" He stopped Z from attempting to hop down without spilling the liquefied remnants of his Blizzard. Z glanced back at him with a surprised grin, scratching his bushy Justin Bieber swoop. Still, however excited Z was, he searched him for signs of sleep deprivation. 

         "Yea ok." He agreed, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. Jackson smiled, oddly proud of their growth. "Go change into something less..." He looked at Jackson's clothes. "-fancy. Oh and tennis shoes. Meet back in ten." At the top of the stairs, they split ways to their rooms.

         He didn't see how Ade suck in every night. Each step over the mahogany hardwood flooring caused a groan in another part of the house. And, they had many steps to take, as their rooms were the farthest to the left, around two corners and then a split hallway leading to their doors. He tried it out on the way back, embracing his inner idiot. Jackson crept nearest the white walls, using only the heel of his foot. If anything, he created more noise. Giving up the mission, Jackson thundered down the stairs, snickering like a child. This is why sugar was such a bad idea. 

         "Did you just fall down the stairs?" Z asked him when he waltzed outside. 

         "Maybe. I don't know." He grinned almost Stiles-levels of goofy. 

         "I can't tell if you're being weird or not so I'm just going to pretend like you're not and... yeah. Come on." One more double take and he led Jackson around to the back, where they held his party. Only they walked passed everything, the pool, the gazebo, walking straight through the perfectly trimmed hedges. It led to open fields.

         Of course, out here, in flea heaven, was where they found Percy frolicking with the Marks' Collie. Well, more trying to frolic and being denied. His poor baby, worked so hard, he hadn't notice them slip into a tiny, rundown garage. The lights flickered on when they stepped inside, illuminating five ATVs. Mud caked to the side of at least two. 

         "Ever ride one?" Z questioned, knowing good well he hadn't. He smirked at Jackson as he refueled the closest two. Jackson caught the keys thrown his way. "No worries. Just like driving a car, only easier. That one's yours." He pointed to the cleanest of the five, a blue and yellow contraception with large tires and a wide seat. 

         Straddling the cushioned seat, Jackson fastened a silly lime green helmet over his head. Oh, if the pack could see him now. Surprisingly, he didn't feel embarrassed about any of it. Excitement raced through his veins as he listened to Z's directions. "Just follow me." Z yelled over rumbling of their combined engines and the automatic door ascending. He lurched forward in an instant, leaving Jackson behind. Sealing his lids, Jackson let his body take over as his fist clenched over the clamp. His ATV propelled over the grass in the direction that Z took off. The wind tore at his cheek, forcing him to squint while they sped through the woods. 

       Navigating became easier, the more turns they took. Eventually, he stopped worrying about the mechanics and marveled at the bits of nature. A random hammock tied between two trees. A trickling creek under a picturesque wooden bridge. He loved it all. It was the first thing all day that hadn't sucked, talking to Stiles notwithstanding.

       They broke away from the woods to a place he hadn't yet seen. Fields of well-kept grass, enclosed by fencing told him this wasn't the place to make a racket. Following Z, he slowed down when they slid onto a gravel road. They came to a stop behind an industrial white building, next to a several cars, one of which was Leal's. The training center, he deduced. They walked inside, the smell of nature and hay in the air, even inside. 

       "Is that horse swimming?" He muttered. They turned to watch two women guide a horse around the length of a pool. It whinnied every few feet, slicing the water with only minimal splashes. He'd seen humans make large splashes than that. Mesmerized, Jackson watched that horse make the water his bitch. He'd never seen anything so bizarrely amazing. Unfortunately, the trainers started eyeing them dubiously. Z pushed him away from the pool before they got thrown out. 

        "This is where I work, isn't it?" He bet this was all a ploy to get him to start this week instead of on Saturday like his aunt promised.

        "Um no. Mom said you're doing concessions with some girl." Z knocked on Leal's office door. "I heard she's a real bitch. Have fun with that." With that description alone, he already knew his coworker. Now, work didn't seem so terrible. "Lee, come on! We don't have all day." The door swung open and Leal stepped out in his work clothes: khakis and a form-fitting white polo with the Cambridge Point logo embroidered on his chest. 

        "Hold your flippin horses. I was finishing up some paperwork. Hey, cuz. Good day at school?" Leal chuckled, already knowing the answer to his dumb question. "Well, its about to get better." He led them outside and around back. Jackson regretted every decision which led to him facing three saddled horses. 

* * *

 

       He survived the rest of the week without hopping on the next flight back to Beacon Hills. School still sucked balls, hearing the false rumors murmured around him. However, after school wasn’t too bad. He hung out with Z mostly as Adrien usually disappeared. He took their horse-riding lessons, to which he barely passed. Then, the two of them played games in the entertainment room downstairs as they worked through a pantry of snacks. He didn’t even complain when Percy got into the bin of animal crackers. He did complain about all the weight he was gaining. On Thursday, after dinner, they went to the local YMCA, where he swam laps until his skin shriveled to raisin status. He liked Z; it was like hanging out Danny, only with a lot less sarcasm. Which is why he voluntarily drove five of Z's friends to the house on Friday. Although, he did "politely" decline their invitation to hang out, using unpacking as an excuse. In a second, they forgot about his existence in favor of their obnoxious cackling. Sadly, he _had_ to tackle the moving boxes invading his room. Stiles called to keep him company around seven. They’ve been talking for almost two hours.

      “How can they not be together? I set it up perfectly.” He said, breaking down his fifth box.  

      “That's probably why. If Scotty was dying of hunger and you gave him some bread, he'd probably throw it away.” Stiles told him as he focused on his game. That’s what he got for trying to help. Jackson scoffed, folding another shirt into his bottom drawer. They both paused when a knock sounded on his bathroom door.

      “Come in.” They both shouted in harmony. He rolled his eyes at Stiles’s impressed smirk. Jackson tilted the screen, stopping Ade and Stiles from seeing one another. His cousin peaked his head through the crack, searching around the room. He expected Stiles to immediately initiate conversation but, he covered his mouth with his forefinger, telling him to play along.

      “Hey.” Ade peered behind the door before frowning. “I could have sworn you were talking to someone.” He took a second to ponder his crazy and moved on. “Whatever. Oh hey, it looks good in here. You’re coming out with me tonight, right?” His tone dared Jackson to refuse as he plopped down in his desk chair.

      “I don’t get a choice?”

      “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ as he swiveled around. “You spend all this time with Z so it’s my turn. Plus, partying is good for the soul.” On the screen, Stiles fought laughter, clutching his stomach in one hand and his controller in another. Jackson shot him a grimace, which Ade caught once he spun in their direction. “Who’re you looking at?” He vaulted over the bed to reach his computer. Before Jackson could reach him, he swiveled the screen around. “Yooo. I knew someone else was here. Had me thinking I’m crazy. What’s up stranger on Jackson’s computer?” He waved enthusiastically like a kid at the zoo.

       “Hey Adrien.” Stiles said through a wide smile.

       “Aww cuz, you told your friends about me? Besties for life.” He pounded his chest as a symbol of their eternal bro-ness.

       Jackson chuckled, slamming his drawer shut. “That’s Stiles, Idiot.” He said, plopping on the bed next to him.

       A large gasp emanated from Ade’s side of the bed, his eyes growing twice their normal size. “Nooo. This is the mysterious Stiles!? Good job, bro but you look so different in your pictures.” When he and Stiles tossed an inquisitive look at him, he ducked his head. “Jessie and I may have internet stalked you.”

       Stiles laughed. “The pa- we did the same thing to you.” He waved his near slip up and Adrien’s admission away. “It’s probably the hair.”

       “And the baby face.” Jackson added him, recalling the old photos of Stiles he’d flipped through one night.

       Stiles groaned. “Oh yeah, the baby face. Thank god, that went away.”

       Ade grinned, glancing back and forth between them, studying their relationship as if someone would test him on it tomorrow. When he wasn’t looking, Stiles wiggled his eyes suggestively, making him actually laugh. “Well, Stiles, I’m stealing the boyfriend for a few hours, sorry.”

       “He’s all yours. The girls are here anyway.Guess whose finally going to the Jungle? This guy." He rolled his body with his thumbs in the air. "Don’t drink and drive! Or accept drinks from strangers. It happens to cute boys too.” He frowned when they laughed at him. “I’m serious. We watched a documentary on it in Health.”

       “You too, dad.” He sighed, regretting his words immediately.

       Stiles grinned slyly at them. “Not the best time for daddy role-play, Jacks.”

       “For real, I’m sitting right here. Disrespect.” Ade added, winking at Stiles. Here it began.

       “I didn’t mean it like that. Immature. The both of you.” He groaned, hopping off the bed.

       Together, they laughed, a hint too evil for his taste. With an amused twinkle in his eyes, Ade said, “Great minds think alike. You know, I feel friendship in the air.” Jackson glared at them. His worst nightmare unraveled before his eyes.

       “Oh my god, yes. Best friendship in motion?” Stiles popped back into view, wearing too tight jeans, just to cement their friendship.

       “Motion approved.”

       Stiles laughed good-kindheartedly, winking at him discreetly. “Epic. You two have fun. Talk to you later, Jacks. Love you.” He waved goodbye before his face disappeared from the screen, leaving them in the room alone.

       “You two are cute.” He said after several minutes of silence. No. Just no. Plugging his ears, he sang the ‘la-la’ song as Ade fell back laughing. “What? I’m just saying. We can talk about these things. I’m serious.” His voice rose in pitch. “He’s cool.”

        Jackson relaxed at that, still training a watchful on him. “Yeah, he is. Thanks, I guess. Ready?” He cleared his throat, busying his hands with shoving his stuff into his pockets. Ade pushed him towards the door, closing it behind them. While they walked, Ade suggested they hit up Wal-Mart to pass the next few hours before the party.  

        As a last minute decision, he stopped by Z’s room to invite him and his buddies for a snack run. They screamed clinging together when he flung the door opened. All five of them, curled up on a couch, stared at him wide-eyed as The Exorcist played on the screen. Amused, he choked back a laugh while Ade bent over in his tear-filled laughter.

       “Do you guys…uhh…Walmart?”

       “No, we’re good.” Z squeaked, shoving his friend off his lap. Even in the darkness, Jackson spotted the rosiness to his cheeks. Snapping a quick picture, he shook his head and closed the door.  In the hallway, they took one look at each other and commenced an obnoxious cackle of their own. 

   
  

* * *

 

         Jackson parked the truck among the other cars in the half mud- half grass before he and Ade hopped out. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect but this…wasn’t it. They waded through the crowd to reach the raging bonfire. Everywhere he looked, kids, sloppy with alcohol, posted up on car hoods and truck beds, yelling over the rap pouring from someone’s subwoofers. They dodged girls in clumps of four and five, strutting around in their tiny dresses. Two in every four of them giggled at his cousin’s cliché “good evening, ladies” when they passed. Jackson rolled his eyes, doubting the dry spell Jessie claimed fell over him. He bet that if Adrien were to invite any of these girls back to the house, they’d ditched their friends faster than you could say the word 'friends.'

        “You’re ridiculous.” He chuckled and Ade smirked, shrugging as if to say ‘I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.’ They walked side-by-side, gaining several looks, while Ade searched for his friends. He spotted them, holding court around their own miniature bonfire near the makeshift dance floor. Circling the pit with blankets, his lot of three friends and their girlfriends shouted out to them. “Ayyy!” They cheered, raising their glasses in the air. “Didn't think you were comin, A.” The guy closest to them shouted after he exhaled a puff of smoke. He looked like a slob with his growing beer belly and yellowing gapped teeth. Jackson grinned, anyway, tampering down on his frown. His cousin could do a million times better in the friend department. A million. They all clapped Ade on the back as he plopped down on a sliver of empty blanket.

        “Y’all remember my cousin, Jackson.” He said, accepting a beer from one of the girls. He went around the loose circle, introducing each guy and his girlfriend. Jackson didn't bother learning their names. Adrien’s friends flicked their heads up in a short greeting and he smiled out of necessity. They talked around him, rehashing some fight at school today that he missed. The conversation bored him and the girls too, texting on their phones. He held eye contact with one of them too long and she used it as an opportunity to start a conversation.

        “So, Jackson…” She started, scooching closer to him. “Do you have a girlfriend back in-” Her curls tilted up in confusion. He saved her the trouble of damaging her brain. With all the rumors circulating around him, she’d take forever to muddle through the lies. “Right. California.” She snickered, embarrassed at her “temporary” memory loss. Suddenly interested in his answer, the boys ceased their conversation in anticipation. Ade attempted for a smile but fear flickered in his eyes. Maintaining a neutral expression, he cleared his throat and gave her a cordial “No.”

        “Really?” She gasped. “But you’re so hot though. California girls are stupid.”

        “Yea. I give you a week tops.” Another girl said, smiling flirtatiously at him from across the circle. Her boyfriend pulled her closer to his side, causing Jackson to cackle under his breath. If only he knew. He wanted to tell this dude to save his possessiveness for someone who cared. “You know, our friend Alex is around here somewhere. She’s real cute. You two might get along.”

        “I’m not interested.” He declined her quickly before they got any ideas. While Jackson sufficiently offended the girls, Ade coughed a laugh into his beer can, letting the aluminum hide his frown. “Thanks for the offer though.”

        “Why not?” The beer belly challenged him with a conniving smirk. Just the sight of him was beginning to aggravate Jackson. “You one of them ‘mos or something?” 

         He froze. 

        “Drew. Fuck off.” Ade ribbed him in the side, glaring. He didn’t growl or let his anger spark. He smiled, slow and controlled with a hint of ‘I’ll kill you if you call me that again.’ Drew glared at him, begging him to retaliate. In his peripheral, everyone slipped back and forth between their separate sides of the circle, not wanting to miss a single second.

         “No disrespect or anything, man.” Drew grumbled eventually.

         “Right…” Jackson scoffed. “Excuse me. I need something a lot stronger than beer to survive this night. Girls, nice meeting you.” He relished in the way Drew's face twisted in disgust but, his girlfriend’s illuminated with elation. Jackson almost winked at her, but he refrained. “Ade, text me when you’re ready.” He nodded at his apologetic grin and hopped up. Behind him, he heard Drew say, “ _A mo for a cousin? Yeah, my mom would have tossed his gay ass out in the cold.”_ The rest of Ade’s group laughed at his comment and his calming mood plummeted. Rage pumped through his veins, shifting his eyes into a fluorescent blue. He turned his head down, hiding his face from anyone staring at ‘the New Kid.’ Over the rush of his own rapid breathing, he caught the faint sound of Ade’s footsteps. Jackson ducked in dancing crowd to lose him. Without thinking, he called Stiles.

         “Hey. You’ve reached Stiles. Sorry, I’m eating ice cream and watching the Notebook with Lydia. Leave a message. Beep.” He inhaled, breathing in Stiles’s voice. That plus the soothing scent of burning wood pacified him. When he opened his eyes, the party carried on as he left it, rowdy and uncontrollable. Before disconnecting the call, he added a message behind the three minutes of silence.

         “Remind me why I thought this a good idea again? Bye.” He roamed the party for a while, bumping into people who stopped him for a quick chat. He somehow found the make out barn at the top of the hill that he immediately fled. That route brought him full circle, straight to the parking lot. He didn't breathe until he was inside. 

**Hey. Heading off. Can you find a ride?**

         He waited for an answer as his vents blasted him with heat, instantly warming his hands. The contemporary country they listened to one the drive here played the Top 25 countdown of the week. Jackson pushed the volume higher when his phone vibrated.

_Ade: Srry bout them. I can come with._

         Sent: stay. ill probably just go home and call stiles

_Ade: wow lame ha. Go be domestic n shit with ur boyfriend_

         Sent: I will. Go be a douche bag with your friends

_Ade: I will after I kick their asses. we good?_

         Jacks: yeah later.

_Ade: later._

        Tossing his phone to the side, Jackson peeled out the parking lot, creating as much noise as possible. Drunken gazes followed his truck when it tore through the makeshift parking lot. Not giving a damn, he used his brights back to the main road. Cars, headed his way, flashed their headlights angrily at him. He chuckled, raising the volume of his music with each passing car. At the main road, he debated on which direction to turn. Right and he'd head back to the house. Left led to the heavy shopping area where they went to Wal-Mart. Straight took him downtown. With impatient drivers honking behind him, Jackson swung left. He burned through his gas, driving the streets at random. Each turn loosened his jaw. By the time his tank cried for fuel, he bobbed his head to the beat slicing through the cab. He swerved into a **Shell** , braking at pump number seven.

          When he stepped out of the store, receipt in hand, a raucous Ford Explorer slid into the pump next to his. Both guys and girls piled out of the car, clutching onto each other in blissful elation. Jackson rolled his eyes, weaving through the bumbling idiots. They smelled of pure tequila and candy, the most deadliest of combinations. A guy bringing up the rear stared at him, trailing his odd gray eyes over Jackson's body. The guy tilted his head as if trying to place him and Jackson faltered, a prickly sensation crawling up his back. It nagged at his skin, whispering 'hey. hey. Alert. ALERT!" That feeling never led to good, normal things.

         "Hey. It's Jackson right?" He called out, walking over to him. His golden blonde hair cascaded around the collar of his white Ralph Lauren polo. Jackson, never one to back down, played it cool, stuffing his hands into his pockets. When he didn't respond, the guy chuckled brightly. "Sorry. You've probably met a shit ton of people. Your aunt invited my family to your party thing. I'm-"

         Before he could finish, one of his friends poked outside the gas station. "Yo, TJ. How much you say again?" Ahhhh. His brain pieced this kid with the vague memory of him from last weekend. He barely got a good look at his them. The long wavy hair, though, Jackson definitely didn't expect. He told his friend how much gas to buy and swiveled back around to face him. Scratching over his shadow, he beamed at Jackson, pulling the corners of mouth all the way back. What was his cousins talking about? This guy seemed harmless, nice even.

         "You should come by this party my buddy's having. We're headed there now." He cocked his head to the car full of noisy weirdos gossiping about them. TJ chuckled, coincidentally when one the girls called them 'sex on sticks.' 

         "Yeah, no thanks. I just left there. Too..." What was a nice way of saying uncivilized, disgusting, not worth his time?  He settled on, "Dusty, for my taste."  

         TJ reared back in disgust as the realization worked inside of now. Now, he understood why people hated him. "He took you to Drew's party, didn't he? Dumbass." He muttered that last part under his breath and Jackson wondered about the true nature of his relationship with Adrien. "I promise its better than that swine-infested pile of dirt. Only animals hang out in fields. So, what do you say? If it's still too 'dusty' for you, you can just dip." He grinned, hopeful for Jackson's answer. 

         "Yeah ok." He surrendered and TJ clapped him on the back. They split ways after he made plans to follow them. As they pulled out onto the main road, he already felt the judgement coming his way. Oh well. Jackson cranked up his music. 

* * *

       The next morning, Jackson whimpered at the hammering inside of his head. He sprawled across his bed with no recollection of how he’d gotten there. However, drunken Jackson prepped the greatest hangover kit for him on the nightstand: one blue pill, a bottle of Dasani Water, his trashcan, AND a paper towel to wipe the spittle. Clearly, he went all out so it would be a shame to waste it. Jackson heaved over the side of his bed, aiming for the inside of the rim. He scrunched his face at both the clumpy sight and the sugary, crystalized smell of the contents below him.

        He can’t remember having anything last night besides the one cup of ‘hunch punch.’ Or was it two? Christ, he was pathetic. Clenching his stomach, he glanced at the time, 2:19, in the afternoon. That explained why the sun seeped through his “blackout curtains” with that added exuberance. Sliding from the cover, one inch at a time, he grabbed his phone and trudged out the door. Upstairs, the house stood quieter than the night before Christmas. No rustling in Ade’s room or Z’s. Then, he padded around the corner and the noise smacked him at once. He cringed at the shrill collection of laughter and voices coming from downstairs. Just his luck. His aunt and uncle were going to ship him back his first week. Too busy his thoughts, he checked his phone as he crept downstairs. Three messages and an Instagram notification waited for him. Naturally, he checked Stiles’ new Instagram photo.

       Chuckling, he commented before moving on. He read Derek’s message, just as succinct as his personality. **_How are things. Call me._** He even punctuated his questions like a statement. So bizarre, his alpha was. Still, he forced away the smile threatening to light of the darkness of the hallway. Just to be an asshole, he mirrored Derek’s lack of grammatical knowledge in his reply. The next message message came with the contact headline: Tanner-TJ-WWB. He didn’t even want to know what that last acronym meant. He vaguely recalled learning TJ’s whole name last night while they played a round of flip cup against a few girls. Tanner-TJ-WWB texted him, **‘You party hard, lightweight. Told you to have just one. Text me when you stop puking. Your trucks at my house.’** He shot off a quick ‘hey’ and kept it moving to his last message, Danny.

_If you cheat on Stiles, I will be so fucking pissed w/ you. Now stop drunk texting me about your new supernatural boytoy. I can’t be an accomplice to your adultery. Stiles will kill us both. n I miss you too. But not if you cheat, you cheater! watching you -_-_

       What?! His body cemented in place, too stunned for movement. Frantically, he scrolled through their conversation, leading up to that point: his inebriated, overly punctuated slurs and Danny’s amused judgment. Oh god. He totally could have cheated on Stiles, though his body didn't feel like he had. 

       “Jacks, we hear you breathing up there.” Ade's voice yanked him from the spiraling theories in his head. Having no other choice, he strolled into the kitchen, portraying the composure of a guy not worried about his nefarious actions last night. Everyone, sitting in barstools around the island, smirked at him knowingly. He bypassed around Z and his posse of friends, but not before stealing a piece of bacon from each of their plates.

       “Noooo.” They protested collectively in various pitches. The short and shrimpy one tried to bite his hand. _Amateur Hour._ Jackson chuckled, patting him on the head as he hopped up on the empty stool next to Leal.

        Leal nudged him in the side. Looking him up and down, he wiggled his eyebrows. “And the mummy returns.” He joked, sliding the orange juice container his way. “Heard you had a fun night. No thanks to Ade.” Leal glared at his brother over Jackson’s head and he felt like ducking out of the crossfire.

        “Shut up! I apologized for that. If anything, it’s his fault for hanging out with that idiot. No offense to your new bestie.”

        “None taken.” He masked his irritation behind a cool smile. “Wait, you were there? How did my truck end up at TJ's house?”

 _"Your truck is where?!?"_  Leal exclaimed, shaking his head disappointingly _._  He stalked out the kitchen, muttering on about irresponsible children. Jackson felt remorseful for about two seconds and then all his focus went to Ade.  _  
_

“We swung by. Then, you got a little handsy with everyone who got handsy with you so he drove us home. We plopped your butt into bed around 4.”

        “Oh. Thanks. I swear I'm not this bad. Anymore." He added as an afterthought."Did I-” he asked the rest with his gaze. Ade caught on after a few seconds, his eyes sparkling at the question.

         "No worries. Your relationship is still sickeningly pure."  

         He sighed in relief when  the doorbell chimed sooner than he thought it would. Silence slid over the room as heads flung in the direction of the door. “Be right back.” He muttered, excusing himself from the group. Shirtless, Jackson shuffled across the hardwood floors in his slippers. At least, they had the decency to creep behind him, letting the cotton colored walls cloak their presence. He discreetly took a whiff of the chilly air when the barrier between them opened. Damn. How did he not pick up on the werewolf thing before now? All the signs were there.  

         “That was fast.” He tried for indifferent, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. With sunlight, he got a better look at him. His hair, still damp, was pushed back into a small ball behind his head. Jackson grunted a laugh when TJ’s nose scrunched at the sight of him. “Fuck off. It’s not that bad.” He defended himself, resisting the urge to smell himself.

          TJ laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, Abercrombie.” He tossed his keys up in the air and Jackson snatched them without looking. “We’re going to the city tonight. You're still coming, right?”

          “Yeah. Maybe. I have to see when-”

          “-you have work? At 4. Sucks.” Ade interrupted their conversation by throwing his arm protectively around his shoulders. Jackson turned to him with an inquisitive grimace. “It was so generous of you to offer, though.” Though he still wore his casual smile, TJ’s gaze iced over as he shifted to Ade. Jackson toggled back and forth between them, watching the tension build before his eyes. The hatred between these two curled his toes, it was so icky. Not even Scott and Isaac went this deep. He dry-heaved, praying for his sanity that the vibes he was picking up weren't true. After minutes of unwavering glares, TJ broke first, scraping his fingernails over his stubbled jaw. "Anyway. Jackson, you have my number. If not, I'll catch you at school." He grinned, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and retreated backwards down the walkway. Standing side by side, he and Adrien watched him extract a bike from the truck bed and take off. 

          "Shouldn't we offer him a ride home or something?" 

          "For what? He can hop a fence."  Ade scoffed at his suggestion, slamming the door in place. He stalked away, leaving Jackson alone in the foyer with a million questions and only one answer. Maybe, his cousin was shooting for that boyfriend whether he knew it or not. Life was a conniving bitch, sometimes. If anything, Jackson knew that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it through! Seriously, thank you for reading. I'm always floored by your response. 
> 
> (A/N- you have met everyone of importance to Jackson. No more new ones. Sorry for the OC action. I tried to keep it at a minimum but it'd be a tad unrealistic if he didn't have friends or haters.)
> 
> I'm trying to get out Stiles's chapter too. It's almost done.
> 
> Love you!


	18. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ultimate gift search commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (photo typical disclaimer. plus no owing teen wolf)

December 5

       “Oh so, you’re Michael Jordan now?” Stiles’s breath floated in a cloud of vapor as he teased Derek. He jumped up, palming the ball from the net. His knuckles scraped against the icy backboard, shooting a violent shiver under the thin fabric of his sweater.

       Derek chuckled from where he’d scored his fifth _three_ -pointer. “You ready to give up, yet?” He rebutted, swaggering back to center court. They circled around each other, a competitive smirk between them.

       “Two out of three?” Stiles winked, holding the ball out to him.

       “You’re freezing, Stiles.” Derek frowned, snatching the ball from his loose grip. “Let’s just go inside.” Stiles watched as he dribbled the ball between his legs, still showing off those skills. He rolled his eyes, cackling lightly. He’d rather endure Derek’s showboating in 29⁰ weather than sit through another minute of the couple fest inside. When he stole the ball, another game commenced. As hard as Stiles tried, Derek kicked his ass, yet he didn’t suggest they head back inside again. He always liked that about Derek; he didn’t push. If you were in a shitty mood, Derek would go about his business.

       “Stiles. Your phone’s ringing!” Scott yelled over to them from the deck, wrapped in a comforter. Stiles paused mid shot and spun around.

       “Who is it? Jackson?” He didn’t even hide his excitement. Derek laughed blatantly at him as he jogged to retrieve the ball. Sue him for wanting to talk to his boyfriend. It’s been a few weeks since they’ve sent more than a text or a random Snapchat.

       “Um no. It says ‘Adem’s Apple.’ I think you spelled Adam wrong.”

       Stiles tossed the ball to Derek without a second thought.   

       “The cousin’s calling you?” Derek muttered, judging how fast he sprinted towards his phone _._ Stiles answered the call as it headed for voicemail. Behind him, he heard Scott ask about the mystery caller. Derek responded, ‘your replacement’ and he grinned at Scotty apologetically.

       “Hey, what’s up?” He answered the phone, yanking it back when a house full of people shouted, “Happy Three Month Anniversary!” Only they sloshed the words together in a drunken exclamation, making it sound more like, “Hapyz Tree Montph Anniveraty!” After that, chaos ensued. Sirens approached. People ran for doors and cars, screaming for their lives.

       “Stiles. Hold on,” Ade told him, presumably so they could escape too. He laughed around shifty eyes, shooting Derek and Scott a panicked look. They shook their heads, as if to say, ‘ _don’t look at us._ ’ A moment later, he heard TJ’s smug calming voice. He and Ade argued about which road to turn. How’d they end together in the first place? That’s what Stiles wanted to know.

       “Turn on Grethen, idiot!” Ade barked.

       “They just came from Grethen.”

       “God. You’re so dumb. It’s a main street. We’ll blend.”

       “Or they’ll do a road block and we’ll go to jail.” TJ rebutted with the same tone of masked irritation. Honestly, Stiles had never met someone so rude yet chill at the same time.

       “Grethen leads right back to us!” Ade’s voice rose higher, if even possible and Stiles had to pull the phone away again.

      “Seriously, if you don’t stop yelling in my fucking ear…” TJ gritted through his teeth, a minute growl emanating from him. Stiles shivered, felt his authority through the phone. At that, Derek’s eyebrows rose while he glared down at the phone. Scott, every bit of confused as him, shrugged his shoulders when Stiles tossed him a question glance.

       Stiles hoped they’d burn out but the argument continued, escalating with fresh arguments. “Oh my god. Both of you shut up,” he shouted loud enough to startle both of them. Inside the house, a few heads reacted to his command, glancing through the glass door before losing interest. “Where’s Jackson? I will be so pissed if you left him.”

       “What? No!” Ade blurted, so worked up he combated a harsh breath.

       “Start from the beginning. Not you, Ade. You, calm down. Tanner. Speak.” His dad always said real names held power. He thanked his dad when TJ actually explained themselves instead of acting aloof, as he normally did where Stiles was involved.

       “It’s not that complicated, Stilinski. We threw you two a party as a practice one for New Year’s. The three month thing was my idea. I’m not billing you. You’re welcome,” he explained with only a hint of sarcasm.

        “Bookmarking the fact that you threw a ‘practice’ party for someone 3,000 miles away, you didn’t answer my question. Where’s Jacks?”

        “J’s fine, Stilinski.” The rough tremor of TJ’s voice, like a jackhammer crushing concrete, still soothed his worries. “He’s in the back, sleeping.” 

        “You mean, passed out,” he sighed, propping his head up with his fist.

       “No. Actually sleeping. Here. Talk to him.” White noise split through while TJ reached back to slap Jackson a few times. They heard whacks against skin, an irritated grunt, a massive slap back, and a squawk before Jackson made an appearance.

       “Stiles?” Jackson grunted, barely understandable over the muffled beats from his loud headphones. That explained how he slept through the gruesome twosome’s bickering foreplay.

       “Sleeping at our three month anniversary party? Shameful.” Stiles felt his grin grow lopsided. Derek and Scott scoffed at him and he winked at them, chuckling at their dramatic dry heaves.

        Jackson huffed, “10 pager. Not my fault.”  

      “Aww baby,” he chuckled, vividly picturing a frantic Jackson typing with one hand and flipping the pages of his textbook with another. “All work and no play makes Jackson a very dull boy.” he joked, at the same time, TJ shouted, “Amen!”

       “Just for that, you don’t get your present.” An inkling of a tired smile crackled in Jackson's voice.

       “Whattt…nooo! I take it back. What is it?”

       “I can’t tell you now but it’s big. Huge,” His voice lowered at the insinuation.

      “Ok! No more of that,” TJ commandeered the phone before Jackson finished his statement. “Satisfied now?” TJ asked him and all Stiles gave him was a ‘humph.’ Adrien cackled, slapping hands palms with Jackson in the background.

        “Are they high-fiving all the sex I’m not having?” he asked, right in front of Scott and Derek, watching as they shriveled up their noses.

        “It would appear so,” TJ chortled, almost proving his worth. “I’m sure you will phone sex it out _after_ we dump him off.”

       “So, it’s a ‘ _we’_ now?” he joked. If TJ teased his relationship, he’d poke fun at theirs. Not that he’d ever do it to Ade. The first -and only- time he made a meaningless joke with Ade, the guy stopped talking to him for a week.

         TJ chuckled, on the other hand, understanding his comment for as a joke. “Hanging up on you, Stilinski.”

         “I still don’t like you.”

       “Likewise.” TJ disconnected the call. Stiles stared down at his phone with a fond smile, feeling Scott and Derek’s inquisitive gazes on his face. His butt squirmed on the now warm metal, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. When they wouldn’t stop, he threw his head back in exasperation.

          “Can we just go inside already? I’m freezing,” he begged through chattering teeth. “Some hot chocolate sounds extra good right now.”

        “Will you send me to Kentucky?” Scott completely ignored everything he said, in favor of staring wide-eyed at his phone. Stiles fell back against his chair, throwing his head back so that it dangled over the seat.

          “Why? It’s anarchy,” he protested, smacking Scott upside the head.

        “But they have sooo much fun. Why would Jackson ever come back from that?” When his word registered in his head, Scott froze, staring at him with immediate remorse. Stiles faked a smile, pretending the statement hadn’t affected him. “Stiles-”

        “It’s ok, buddy,” He faked a smile and turned to Derek, who watched him cautiously. “Three out of five?” Before Derek could deny him, he snatched the ball and took off towards the basketball court. The door opened and closed behind him while he took practice shots. He’d play a game of ‘one on none’ if he had to. A few minutes later, more than one set of feet jogged down the stairs. When he glanced over from his failed layup, the entire pack stood on the sidelines, pretending they weren’t shivering their skin off. Including, Lydia and Allison who buried themselves in three of Derek and Isaac’s sweatshirts.

        “I call Team Stiles!” Erica yelled through chattering teeth. She jogged over to his side, throwing her hair up into a loose ponytail. Danny and Scott followed her over while Isaac, Boyd, and Allison stuck to Derek’s side. Lydia assigned herself as “alternate” for any injuries.

        “You know I lose every time, right?” He told them, beaming at them. Scotty squeezed the cold out of him in a tight hug.

        “You have two werewolves and a hacker athlete. Your losing days are over.” Scott smacked him on the back, smiling apologetically.

        “I wouldn’t count on it.” Derek cracked back. He tossed a bulky sweatshirt his way, once again, showing off his skills as it smacked against the side of Stiles’s face. “Bundle up. Wouldn’t want you to lose those quick fingers.”

        “Keep talking, old man.” Stiles threw on the jacket and the game commenced. With Scott, Erica, and Danny by his side, he actually won one and a half of those games. The half? He blamed Isaac’s cheating on that one. Who takes off their shirt in thirty-degree weather? More importantly, who just lets someone walk up and take the ball? Dammit, Scott.

* * *

 December 21

        The single greatest thing about December? Christmas. And, Stiles fucking loved Christmas. He commemorated the countdown by finding a seasonal job, hoping for an elf position. Nine dollars an hour? Sign him up.

        Unfortunately, for him, the Macy's costume stopped mid-calf. As in, the hiring manager helped pull it off him _after_ he snapped a picture. It'd probably end up in the 'what not to do' issue of the hiring newsletter next year. After putting him through that torture, they did give him a position in Santa's Workshop...as a gift-wrapper. 

        For hours, he wrapped merchandise. Today was no different. Exactly four days before Christmas, people bombarded the workshop with grumpy cheer. Still, Stiles donned his reindeer antlers, a bright smile, and produced some meticulously wrapped presents. Right now, he handled a middle-aged woman as she yanked her two boys from poking the life-sized Nutcracker next to his station. Stiles chuckled, remembering his mom acting the same way back then. She sighed, relieved, when Stiles made swift work out of her gifts. He'd done this so many days now; he rarely gave himself paper cuts.

        Taping down the last loose triangle, Stiles flipped the candy-cane box over and stuffed it in the bag with all the others. "And, here we go. I believe these belong to you," he plastered on a wide smile, choosing to ignore her condescending scoff. As long as she kept stuffing ten-dollar-bills in his tip jar, she could punch him in the face and insult his intelligence. "Merry Christmas! Bye boys!" They waved back to him, already sprinting ahead of their mom. Another customer replace them.

        The pack laughed at him when they found out. None of them understanding why he’d willing subject himself to this “torture.” Sure, he listened to _“Dashing through the snow. In a one horse opened sleigh”_ eighty times a day and worked with aggressively chipper people, but the more hours he spent here, the less he spent worrying about his lackluster love life. Not a call or Skype in weeks. For the record, he predicted this.

        “How’s it going, Stiles. We ready for break?” His manager rushed by, clutching a container of cracked Christmas ornaments. He sympathized for the employee clumsy enough to damage those. She paused at his station long enough to inspect his tidiness. “Good work. Go ahead and put your sign out. Thirty minutes.” She waltzed off without another word. He followed the procedure for closing up. Two minutes later, with his book bag tight on his back, Stiles rushed for the break room. Lydia dropped off italian leftovers from her family’s dinner an hour ago. 

         He left the sea of red streamers and Christmas trees to enter a bland white room brightened by a pond of red Macy shirts and costumes. Stiles scanned the room, searching for his normal break partner, Santa. Well, Stiles called him Mr. George but many knew him as Santa. He found him in the far corner of the room with his nose scraping the inside of the third Game of Thrones novel. Stiles strolled over to the lithe elderly man. He’d done away with his pillow tummy today. Bummer. He snickered, as he plopped down at the table.  

         “Hey. Mr. George,” Stiles nodded to him, pulling off his work shirt to minimize the potential for stains. Too deep into his book, Mr. George flopped a wave in his direction that resembled more of a 'go away.' He knew better. The scrooge exterior didn’t derail him. His phone and Lydia’s food kept him busy while the man finished his chapter in peace. He played his turn on his and Ade’s _‘Words with Friends_ ’ game, cursing when Ade scored fifty points on the word Juked. With his shit letters, Stiles doubted a win in his future.

        He startled when a veil of white hair fell over his screen. Having pushed his book aside, Mr. George leaned over to help Stiles with the game. He gladly tilted the screen his way, watching his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Use your brain. ‘Vowel’ right there gets you double letter on V and triple word.” Significantly, better than laying down his word ‘low,’ Stiles played the letters, beaming as his total score rose by 84 points.

         “You’re a genius, Santa. Chicken Parm?” He offered, pushing the plate between them. The man eyed it with disdain before reluctantly grabbing one of the cutlets.

         “So, how’s your dude?” Mr. George asked around a bite. Stiles groaned, dropping his head dramatically. “What? I can be hip with the lingo.” He popped the white fluffy collar on his costume.

       “Nooo. Never say or do that again,” he guffawed loud enough to paused their coworkers' conversation. “He’s good. I guess. Snap chatted me a picture this week. With you actually.”

         “With me? Quit your lying.” Adorable how the man actually tried to ponder if Jackson sat upon his lap.

         “I’m serious," Stiles replied with a straight face, pulling up a snapshot of the picture. Mr. George squinted at his tiny screen.

         The man hooted a hearty laugh when he finally understood the joke.

       “Always with the jokes, Stiles. I make a much better Santa than that man.” He wiped his eyes free of tears. “Too chummy. Anyway, what’s a grown boy like that sitting on Santa’s lap? Clearly, you’re both getting coal.” 

         “Damn,” he smirked, snapping his fingers. “Better go unpack my bags.”

         Mr. George chuckled, patting him on the back. “Keep ‘em packed, kid. Maybe, you boys’ll start acting like you got some sense in those thick skulls. Life is too unpredictable to be a ball of pride and misery.” He always tried to impart wisdom off on him. Stiles nodded, mostly to pacify him.

         “Bye, Mr. George. Gotta jet. Pay day and all.” He passed off the rest of the food to him and hopped back to work. Somehow, without even wearing it, he found a pasta sauce stain on the hem of his shirt. Thankfully, it blended with the bright red color. He finished off the rest of his shift with ease, chatting with a girl from makeup they stuck behind the counter with him. He bounced Christmas gift ideas off her, noting which ones she denied and accepted. By the time, his manager swooped in with his paycheck and a pen to sign his time slip, Stiles felt no closer to Jackson’s gift. He’d completed his other gifts weeks before this.

        He’d prepped his stocking already, filling it with candy, treats for Percy, and naughty gag gifts from _Spencer’s Gifts_. But, nothing of substance. Frustrated, Stiles threw his book bag into the passenger seat of the Jeep, stripped off his work shirt, and bumbled back inside. He had only one hour before the Post Office sent off all outgoing mail. If he didn’t get it in today, on regular postage, he’d have to go priority to make it by Christmas.

        Comfortable with the store, Stiles combed through the men’s section, searching for gifts that screamed, 'I’m Jackson Whittemore and I’m better than you.' Instead, most of the merchandise whispered, 'hey, I’m expensive and Stiles Stilinski can barely afford me.'

          Recent check and tips included, his bank account beamed five hundred dollars thicker than usual. If he wanted to, he could buy the fanciest thing in this joint. Stiles perused the shoes again, stopping at the one pair that caught his eyes. Burnished blue leather Sperrys to replace the ones Jackson stupidly threw away. Stiles swiped his fingers over the leather. He almost bought them for himself when they caressed him back. Stiles cradled the $90 shoes in a size nine, took four steps and spotted a Sperrys cleaning kit. Snickering, he snatched that too, knowing Jackson would blotch red at his insinuation. Somehow, shoes and a cleaning kit didn’t seem sufficient. The asshole brought him an entire wardrobe and just for the hell of it. No telling what he’d do for Christmas.

           “Hey Stiles,” he balked at his name being yelled from across the store. Swiveling around, his gaze landed on the dude who funked up the break room with his shrimpy ramen.

           “Hey…” Stiles forced a smile, saddling up to the kid's watch kiosk. He didn’t even know this dude knew his name. “What’s up? Ready for the holidays?”

           “Ehh. I’ll be working.” Ramen Guy said with an indifferent shrug. His voice sounded as plain and monotonous as his face, just features in a crowd. Still, Stiles maintained his friendly composure.

           “Ouch. Sucks dude. We rock, paper, scissors for it,” he sympathized, staring down at the crystal display of illuminated watches. Four hundred dollars of pure class, these watches made his fake G-Shock look as if he'd vended it from a coin-operated toy machine. “Hey. Do you have any of these that won’t break my bank?”

           “Uh yeah. How much we talking?” Now, with a potential customer, life bled into Ramen Guy’s eyes. The guy rapped his fingers on the glass, peering hopefully at him.

           “The employee discount is 30% right?”

          “Technically, but if you find an ad, you can use the 15% off too.” Ramen added but his words trailed off as Stiles whipped to the closest doors, shouting back to Ramen to hold his stuff. He sped to all four entrances and found not one ad left. _Fucking commercialism_ , he cursed, slinking back to the counter.

          Passing the home appliances, Stiles spotted an abandoned shopping cart. The doorbusters ad laid where a child would sit. He prowled near the refrigerators, training an eye for any activity. Two minutes; it was still abandoned. Strolling past, he palmed it discreetly, slipping away without causing a ruckus. He ducked into the kid’s section when a wife screamed at her husband for leaving the cart unattended.

         “Can’t you do anything right?!?” Her screech carried through the store, stopping everyone in the surrounding departments. Except Stiles, he kept pushing, not daring a moment’s breath until he slid in front of Ramen, throwing the ad down onto the glass. 

          “Do I even want to know?” Ramen questioned, judging his harsh breathing. Stiles shook his head negative. While he caught his breath, Stiles made quick calculations in his head.

        “I can handle anything under 250, I think. Puts me around 130-ish with the discount right? And, if you have something on sale tossed that shit right here.” He lowered his voice when Ramen’s manager came poking her head around the wallet section. “Sorry.” He waved, ducking his head. God, they were going to fire him before he even left the store. He glanced at his own watch. Twenty-five minutes left. “Ok, work your magic for me.” Ramen gave a hint of a smile, throwing down the most recent catalogue. He showed Stiles his options--there were many--noting which ones were also on sale for an _extra_ fifteen percent. Ten minutes later, he narrowed it down to two. He sent them to the pack, unable to decide himself. 

        Lydia _: #2 for sure. Nice choices. look at you blossoming._

        Erica _: **ehh I could go without both but 2**_

        Scott _: bro these are nicee!! date me instead! I’ll treat you right. promise! oh n 2_

        Derek _: **One. Less flashy.**_

        Danny _: umm hard choice. both offer strong points. for jacks? def 2_

        Boyd _: **one**_

        Allison _: I like two :)_

        Isaac _: **is there a third option?**_

        Five votes for number two, two votes for the number one, and one vote for smarmy asshole. Stiles chose two, thanking Ramen incessantly as he totaled him out. He only spent $189.21 with 160 dollars’ worth of saving, extreme couponing at its finest. Stiles hightailed over to wrapping, begging his coworkers to wrap it with the premium ‘ho, ho, ho’ wrapping paper. He spent five minutes fitting the boxes inside his larger box, which only gave him only twelve minutes to reach the post office…across town. Dammit, if he wasn’t going to try. 

* * *

       Stiles swung into the parking lot, not even bothering to turn off the ignition. Five minutes. He could make this. Cradling Jackson’s present, he sprinted across the parking lot. Just as he approached, a man, swiping through his mail in frustration, headed out. When he glanced up, Stiles stopped short. With Jackson’s move, he almost forgot Mr. Whittemore’s existence, hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

         “Stiles,” Mr. Whittemore greeted him with slow reluctance. His body angled as if he planned to walk away yet he continued speaking. “Hello.”

         Stiles looked at the wall clock just beyond the glass door. Three minutes. “Hi. Mr. Whittemore. Sorry, can’t talk.” He swooped passed him, grabbing ahold of the metal door handle.

         As he opened it, Mr. Whittemore asked the one question that got him to stay, “How’s Jackson doing?”

        Stiles sighed, watching as the secondhand tick over the twelve again. Dammit. Three and a half. He let go over the door. “Good. Too good, probably. Christmas present.” He tousled his present lightly so that all the pieces rumbled together.

        The hint of a non-frown transformed Mr. Whittemore’s face. He went from being _death and destroyer_ to _Mojojojo_ with just the slight upturn of the mouth. “And his studies?” He asked in a hopeful lit.

       “Seriously, dude. His studies? Have you learned nothing?” Stiles chuckled, suddenly finding the man’s narrow-mindedness comical. “His _studies_ are fine. It’s Jackson. He could take Brit Lit in Middle English and still come out with a B.”

         Mr. Whittemore cocked his head to the side twice, agreeing with him. He looked at the clock. One minute. Stiles started inching closer to the door.

         “How’s that campaign going?” he asked, too curious not to ask.

         “I rescinded from the race.”

        Stiles swiveled back around, gaping at Mr. Whittemore’s total lassiez-faire attitude about that statement. “You did what!?!” He threw his hands up in the air, forgetting about Jackson’s present. He caught it before the box crashed to the ground. “All of that and you don’t even get to be Governor? Disappointment.”

         “I thought you’d be overjoyed.”

        “Are you kidding me? I severely dislike you and you’re a tyrant but they write trilogies about you, dude. The badass businessman who gets things done. Any means necessary. The assistant ruins your coffee. You ruin his relationship. Your accountant gives away too much money. You give away his job. Your son starts sabotaging the campaign. You send him away. Without all of that...you’re just another douchebag without a purpose. No offense.” He added as an afterthought, holding up his hands in surrender. The smile contorting Mr. Whittemore’s face terrified him. A genuine smile on the face of the devil? He should probably get a head start on escaping now.

       “How would you like to intern for me this summer?” Mr.Whittemore asked him when his hand gripped the door again. He replayed the words in his head three times before they registered. Stiles’s eyes grew to an alarmingly large circumference as he stared back at Mr. Whittemore, standing confidently behind him.

        “I slam you and you offer me a job? Seriously, what are you taking?”

      “The chill pill.” Mr. Whittemore said one hundred percent serious and Stiles held his gut in a laugh. Mr. Whittemore leered at him through the tiniest of unimpressed slits. “I’m returning to the practice and I’ll need a temporary assistant while I search for an actually qualified one. Answer calls. Track my schedule. Learn the ends and outs of the business. I think you have the qualities of a successful attorney.”

       Stiles thought about it, working for the enemy. It helps when the enemy compliments you. “You _have_ already tried to ruin my relationship. Multiple times.” he rationed. “And I do make bangin coffee. How much money we talking?”

         “If you practice grammatical English, we pay all of our interns $12 an hour.”

          He saw large stacks of money and cruises in his future. Stiles groaned; he’d love to go on a cruise. “I’ll consider it on one condition. You offer Jacks the same position.”

          “Don’t be one of those couples, Stiles. You can be your own person. Beside legalese puts him to sleep. Always has.”

          “We’re not one of those couples!” he protested too quickly. He shuffled in place, clutching Jackson’s gift close to his chest. Mr. Whittemore didn’t seem to think so; he arched his right eyebrow in a smooth arch, challenging Stiles to prove him wrong. “Fine. Only because you’re paying me and I look awesome in a suit. Now, if you’ll excuse me boss. I have to pay an extra 40 bucks so this thing’ll make it before the big day.”

          “Here.” Mr. Whittemore reached for his wallet, producing three twenties. “Think of it as an early bonus.” Stiles accepted the money, tucking it deep into his pockets before Mr. Whittemore took it back. “I’ll be in touch.” Jackson’s dad cleared his throat, slapped the stack of envelopes against his palm, and strolled away, a whistle on his tongue. Stiles stared long before his Mercedes peeled out of the parking lot. They weren’t that couple, right? More importantly, what did just agree to?

* * *

         

           "Jackson. You know what to do.” Beep.

          “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’m tryna call you back. Whatever. I wanted to open my gifts with you but I guess I’ll do it this way. You better appreciate those Sperrys, dude. Treasure them with your-holy fuck! Oh my god. Oh my god! No you didn’t. Holy- I can’t right now. I was expecting like another leather jacket- maybe some jeans. This is insane, Jacks! Nothing will ever get done. Ever. Thank you so much. Now, I feel bad cause my gift is shit compared to this. Why you always overachieving? Your perfection hurts. Literally aches. I’m sending you my doctor’s bill. Hold up. I’m opening my dads present. You know the meanie didn’t even wake me up before he went to- seriously!?! You two planned this didn’t you? I can’t believe this. Sneaking around behind my back. Oh, and there’s more…… I gotta go. love you. Wish you were here. Merry Christmas. bye.”

       “Hey hey. It’s Stiles. Sorry, I’m wearing antlers and serial wrapping gifts. Leave a message.” Beep.

       “I’m not calling you again cause we keep playing phone tag and its annoying but Merry Christmas. I wish I was there too and I love your gift. Ade is soo jealous. You should see his face. Extra salty. Well, not about the santa hat thong. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking? I’m never putting that thing on my dick. Also, I knew you’d freak out. I bet you weirdos are still in front of the tv. Go take a walk or something. Actually, no, you earned this. Cause Armani _and_ Sperrys? I feel like a proud papa. Look at you, shopping in a real department store. I’ll clean them every day. If you’d answer your phone, you’d know my dad called me today, wishing me a merry christmas. He said he saw you. Bet that was awkward. Anyway, I should go. Apparently they have this big surprise and I'm kinda scared. Everyone keeps giving me these creeper smiles. If I don’t make it out alive, I love you too. Oh and Isaac owes me fifty bucks. Collect that shit. talk to you later.”

* * *

        Stiles pulled out his dad’s second present once Scott’s car ambled down the road. He waited hours to touch it again. Mr. Whittemore thought they were that couple? Always meshing into one homogeneous blob, _StilesandJackson_. Oh, did Stiles plan on proving him wrong. Starting with getting back to what he does best. Flipping through the intimate details of Laura’s case file, he grabbed a pen and set to work.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hoped you enjoyed it. Things are unfolding and I'm getting really excited. Thanks for your freaking incredible support as I hammer this out!  
> [Curious to see what Jackson isn't putting on his dick?](http://www.spencersonline.com/product/pd-sexy-mr-santa-panties123/)


	19. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve? Secure your handle bars, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter because I am so grateful for you guys on this long fic journey. I know we still have some ways to go so, just let me be sentimental! Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> (Typical disclaimer here.)

       

       

      The day after Christmas, one week before their New Year's Eve party, the Paris Police Department finally undercover evidence linking them to the practice party. All it took was Ade's crumpled McDonalds receipt to find them. Since their party involved breaking and entering, underage drinking, marijuana, and tomfoolery, the police couldn’t let it slide.

      Jackson was relaxing on the basement couch, skyping with the pack when they showed. Their fists rapped on the door so forceful, even the pack heard it. Silence replaced laughter as the group tried to eavesdrop on what transpired a floor above him. In a booming voice, the first cop declared, "Hello Mrs. Marks, we're here about your son's involvement in a reckless house party a few weeks back." The other wolves, also having heard the man, stared wide-eyed at him. Whereas Derek was relaxed a few seconds ago, he radiated with disappointment now. 

        "I gotta go. Bye." He frowned at Stiles's concerned expression before disconnecting the call. Hopping off the couch, he weighed his options. Upstairs, they'd stop him. Out the back door, he'd look suspicious, especially since they technically weren't here for him. (Even if, he had suggested they used the abandoned house on Pine St for the party.) He decided to play on his newbie innocence, waiting until they left and then casually strolling upstairs. His knee jittered against the table as he waited for the cops to reprimand Ade and ply him with questions.

        Once they left, taking a personal statement with them, Jackson sauntered upstairs with his laptop tucked closely into his right side. Percy barely glanced up from his daytime nap as he slipped on his headphones to give the allusion of listening to music. Really, the only sound filling his ears were the pack's incessant ringtones. Barefoot, he passed the living room as his aunt stalked back and forth in front of Ade. They should title her biography, _'Five feet of sweet. Four inches of pure terror.'_

       “Of all the crazy shit you've done. Drugs! What the hell were you thinking. They almost took you to the station. And after last time?! What would your dad have said? Huh!” She raised her voice, slicing her arms through the air. Neither of them noticed his appearance so he watched behind a pillar. A few seconds later, Z joined him, hiding his body behind the opposite pillar.  _What happened,_ Z mouthed to him. Jackson shrugged his shoulders, sticking to his plan of innocence. "Were you doing drugs!?" They plugged their ears to escape from her piercing scream. "Answer me." 

       “No. I didn't even know people had dru-"

       “Boy, don't lie to me." She barked, smacking him lightly upside the head. It shut him up immediately. He and Z glanced at each other, nervously. In an instance, all of the anger bled from his aunt when she scrutinized Ade's slumped posture and fidgety fingers. "You were doing so well. Are you hanging around with the Daniels' kid again? Cause I've been seeing him around lately. If we need to set up an appointment with Dr-"

       Adrien jerked up, stopping her before she finished that statement. "No! Mom. It's fine." He insisted, sneaking a quick look at him. With his eyes, Adrien glanced between him and the door, telling him to leave. They went back and forth shooting each other loaded expressions. Jackson insisted on staying while Ade called him stupid. His aunt caught them arguing and it clicked for her. Sighing, she extended her hand. "Phone. Keys." 

       "But-"

       "No. Three weeks. You stay home. You go to work. Saturdays, you help in the stables. You do  _ **anything else** ,_ I’ll skin you. Got it?” she demanded. Dejected, Ade forked over his things. "Thank you. Now, out my face." He stalked passed them, taking the steps three at a time. Inside his room, Ade threw on classic rock, loud enough to mask the creaking of his window. He jumped off their back deck and crunched onto the firm blanket of snow beneath him. Neither of them heard his escape. "Ezra, go tell your brother to turn down his music."

        Z gave him a sympathetic grin before leaving him alone with his aunt. He didn't think his hands quivered any faster than in this moment. "Come on." She said composed, patting the couch. His legs, scissoring the air like dried jerky, carried him over. He decided against breathing altogether for the fear he'd make the wrong move. She considered him. “Were you there?” She asked him, her tone level more calm than with Adrien. If it was a trick, she sure bested him. The truth spurted from his mouth.

        “Yes. No. I- I was in the car sleeping."

       "Sleeping?" By her tone, she obviously didn't believed him. He told her his side of the story truthfully as if she held some hold over him. He blamed the chilling eyes but comforting tone. A hurricane of terror and motherly charm. He did, however, keep TJ's name out of it, picking up Ade's cues from earlier.  When he finished, she scrutinized him for a long, silent moment. “I don't see any need to tell your parents."

         "Thank you." he sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders. The last thing he wanted was a call from his dad when they had a semi-decent conversation yesterday. 

        "Don't thank me yet. Same punishment. Three weeks. If you're not at swim or school, you're at work or in this house. No going over to the Daniels' place or having visitors. I'll allow Leal's house or the stables but only if you get my permission first. Understood?” He nodded. “Good. And since you apparently throw a decent party, you’ll oversee this year's teen Casino night on New Year's. But, no drugs or drinking, you hear me?" She waited for him to physically shake his head. "If you want, you can ask the other boys to help you.”

          “Yeah, ok.” He automatically reached for his phone but, she stopped him by pushing his hand away. 

        “Keep 'em. But, let me clue you in on something. By themselves, Adrien and Tanner are lovely boys. Together? They rub like Sandpaper and Brillo." He didn't entirely understand the reference but, he caught the implications. He opened his mouth to refute but, she held up her hand. "I know my son. If he's making trouble, the Daniels' kid is not far behind him and they'll only get worse. Remember that cause next time, I won't be so nice." She patted his knee. "Go on. I have work to get to." He gladly headed upstairs, sealing himself off in his room. Z waited for him on his bed, tossing a miniature basketball in the air. He shuffled over the comforter to make room for him. As he slid down next to him, Jackson noticed the lack of music spilling through his walls. They laid there, simply co-existing in the same room for some time. When he finally pushed up to ask, Z shook his head. Laying back down, he let it go. For now.  

* * *

 

        Jackson gave up around the thirty-minute mark. Obviously, the delivery company lied to him over the phone, having told him 11 o’clock sharp. Well, eleven came and went, leaving their Casino party preparations without actual Casino equipment. Clutching the clipboard to his chest, he half-listened to the story one of Z’s friends told them. His name was Forrest or something naturally embarrassing. Jackson stopped trying to remember their names a long time ago. Z surrounded himself with so many friends; he started calling them, “The Moving Continent.”

        “-And then, he went **BOOM**.” _Forrest- Leaf- Wood_ , whatever his name was, Karate Chopped the air. “It knocked him right on his ass. Craziest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice elevated in pitch. All of the minions- his cousin included- perched on the edge of their cushions, enthralled by his story telling skills. Jackson watched their Zombified expression in amusement.

       Since their group gave up working an hour ago, Jackson came to pick up the task of sorting ‘funny money’ into small envelopes for their guests. They decided that everyone would receive $300 dollars’ worth of fake money with their faces on them. The idea came from an intense game of Monopoly. “ _Why don’t we put our faces on fake money?” Z had asked, while he collected the $600 stashed under Free Parking. Drew flipped the board but, they each admitted to the ingenious idea._ _Except for Adrien, who decided to skip the meeting and NOT tell his aggravating, homophobic partner in crime._

        Probably why, he held a fat stack of $1,000,000 dollar bills with Ade’s bitch face on them. Grinning, Jackson set those aside as he worked on finishing the envelopes. In every one, he placed one TJ ($100), two of his ($50), three Z’s ($20), two of the honorary Stiles ($10), three Leal's ($5), and last -but certainly the least- five Drew’s ($1). 

       He sealed up the twentieth envelope when a faint muffler caught his attention. “Fucking finally.” He cursed, vaulting out of his chair and towards the door. Sometimes, he forgot he lived among supernaturally ignorant people, especially now, with all the boys watching him through confused squints. Those squints rose to wide gapes when the eighteen-wheeler truck chugged around the corner. Jackson ignored their inquisitive murmurings by heading outside.

       He met the men at the bottom of the steps, careful not to slip on the melting snow and ice. Shaking their beef slabs for hands, Jackson led them back into the multipurpose building. The smell of curdled bananas, from the weekly market, smacked them in the face. He'd grown accustomed to the smell. The deliverymen, however, had not. The two of them discreetly staggered their breathing as Jackson led them into the mostly decorated gym.

       “Alright. Everything goes in here and watch the carpet.” He nodded to the wonky atrocity they found at Goodwill. “Slots along that wall and I don’t really care where you put everything else. Try to space 'em out. Any questions?” The men nodded grimly, still breathing through their mouths. “Here.” He tossed them each their tips. “Sorry about the smell. Have fun.” Pocketing their money, they escaped the banana-ridden gym to fetch the first piece of equipment.

       Since he was up, Jackson decided to make his rounds. His aunt did bestow the clipboard upon him. Really- a terrible decision, if you asked him. He never held the clipboard. Hell, he was so anti-clipboard, he dated the person holding the clipboard, just so he didn't have to.

       “This looks good, girls.” He called over to part two of Z’s crowd. The girls smiled kindly at him as they finished decorating the second half of the gym. The one he always saw at the house grimaced at him from her post painting giant playing cards. Despite her bad attitude, Jackson liked their red, white, and black creativity. He moved on downstairs to the indoor pool where TJ and few of their friends- well Jackson’s acquaintances- covered the pool with an impenetrable tarp. Apparently, last year, someone pooped in the pool. 

       “Hey, Boss. We’re hungry. Order some pizza.” TJ called out to him before he even stepped into the room. His voice rippled over the water before it floated to his eardrums. Jackson rolled his eyes; they could at least keep up the appearance of being normal. He took the stairs, casually descending to their level before stretching out on the closest lounge chair.

       “You paying?” He asked, crossing his hands behind his head. Reluctantly, TJ agreed, even knowing the ridiculous amount of people here for prep. Not including the caterers, he counted nineteen. Too lazy to call it in himself, he pushed it off on Z. 

 **TJs paying for pizza. Call it in will ya. Get enough for everyone.** Now **,** he saw the advantages of holding the clipboard. A short moment later, his phone buzzed with an affirmation.

       “So, after this thing, you coming with us to Eric’s?” TJ asked for the third time this week, hoping his answer would change. They knew his aunt grounded him. Jackson shot him a dry ‘fuck you,’ while dodging the wave of water before they ruined his new shoes. They did scrape the side of his sweatpants. He chuckled, scrambling up the stairs. The girls winked at him while TJ and all the other guys pumped their fists in the air. Idiots. Smirking, Jackson flicked them off before pushing back up the stairs.

          "Don't do anything stupid!" He called back in the hallway.

 _“Tell Stable boy I said hi.”_ TJ whispered back to him halfway up the steps. Jackson chuckled, deciding to stay out of their shit from now on.

 _“Or you could leave me out of it and do it yourself.”_ He replied.

_“Maybe, I will.”_

         Then, his phone illuminated with a call from Scott. “ _Y_ _ou do that."_ He said before answering his call. "Yes, McCall.” He initiated the call,  not bothering with pleasantries.

        “Hey,” Scott greeted him, too chipper. “So your friend mentioned something about a party tonight?” The rumble of an engine blurred his words but Jackson caught the gist of it.

         “That’s the plan.” He said with a dry tone; in the background, he could hear Isaac’s heavy breathing.

         “Awesome. We’ll be there soon.” Scott harped into the phone and his feet almost slipped from under him. Jackson held onto the railing for support as Scott’s words echoed in his head.

       “What.” He declared, his clipboard crashing to the hard concrete step. The cheap plastic snapped into three pieces; they bounced down the steps like a slinky ready for action.

         “Did you fall? Whatever. Doesn't matter. You know how we’re visiting my dad this week. Well, he had some overnight business in Cincinnati so we caught a bus out. And, you kinda have to pick us up.”

        “You caught a bus? From Ohio?” He reiterated, already picturing his aunt’s disappointed glare in his head. _Oh, you said no guests. Well, I brought two._ He’d have to sneak them out before they returned from their business trip in North Carolina tomorrow. Scott droned on about the cheap price of the ticket, not minding him one bit. Somehow, since the last time they’d talked, his voice grew deeper and irritatingly happier. The idea of his two worlds mixing didn’t bother him as much as the fact that it was McCall. Of all people. A scowl captured his relaxed mood, even when a microscopic part of him liked the idea of surrounding himself around pack again. “I can’t deal with this right now. Catch a cab.” He decided, bending down to pick up his papers.

        Scott sputtered to change his mind. “But-but…Stiles is here.”  

        Jackson froze with his back bent over, not knowing whether to believe him. He talked to Stiles three days ago and he hadn't mentioned the DC trip. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he made a brisk decision. Jackson tried to listen for Scott's heartbeat or Stiles's voice in the background. He heard neither. “You better not be lying to me.” He gritted.

       Scott chuckled calmly. “Nope, it’s a surprise so you gotta act like it.”

       "Fine.” He succumbed, adding yet another task to his over-flowing list. Scott yipped in his ear, along with another cheer as his backup singer.

       “Yes! You're the best, dude. Texting you the address now.”

       “Don’t. I know where you’re going.” He hung up the phone, springing into action. Jackson flung open the badly decorated door and stalked inside. Already, the blackened room reeked of alcohol as Dubstep seeped from the corner speakers. Looking around the room, he couldn’t find the one person who didn't piss him off. He turned to his very last choice **,** lounging on the couch, as if they could actually invite people to party among his shit decorations.

       “You seen Ade?” He asked as more of a statement. Drew, blazed to the sky, smirked up at him. He wrapped his beefy hands around his girlfriend's waist and Jackson stared down at them, unimpressed. 

       “Oprah! Didn’t see you there, girl! How you liking my decorations? Badass huh?” He gestured around the room with cartoonish excitement. Jackson swiveled around, taking in every inch of the room. The fool glued sheets of wrinkled red construction paper together and stuck them to the wall.

       “You’re proud of this?” He asked a laugh on his tongue; it fueled Drew’s angry boner for him. “Look-if you see him, tell him I’ll be back.”  

          “Will do, Pocahontas. Later.”

    Jackson scoffed, strutting nonchalantly out the room. Uneven red streamers smacked him in the face with every step. One hour. No- he wasted ten minutes on that idiot. He had fifty minutes to pick them up. It took about 45 minutes to reach the city alone. “Be back. Don’t slack off or no pizza!” He yelled over to Z and his friends, shooting passed them.

     Somehow, without breaking his ass on ice, he jogged to the truck, shuddering at the frigid weather. He missed that about California; rarely did they have snow. His tires crunched through the tar-hardened muck as he backed away from the curb carefully. Even with the new snow tires, he didn't trust them to protect him from a winter catastrophe. 

         At the fork between the exit and the turn for the house, he hesitated on his next move. Did he have time to scrub off the banana smell? Or change into clothes other than his current ones, Cambridge Point sweats and a threadbare sweater? He should clean his room. The truck too, he decided, eyeing the fast food bags and trash they’ve accumulated in only two months. He turned for the house, wanting to look good for Stiles. When angry male grunts surrounded his car, Jackson swiveled right back around. He’d rather reek of a million bananas, wear a clown’s costume,  _and_  own the world’s junkiest car than walk in on that. He set on the road, letting a smile bleed through his disgusted exterior.

         He texted Danny on the drive into the city, admonishing him for not telling him about McCall's plan sooner. Five minutes later, Danny replied as pissed, if not more that they didn't invite him. _Li_ _ttle fucks. I'm mad. Tell me about it 2morrow_ _._ Danny wrote and though the message ended succinct, he smiled anyway.  

        Jackson pulled off the highway right behind their Double-Decker bus. The blue monstrosity drove twenty mph, breaking at every possible chance. Exhaling deep, he followed it to the station, pulling into the five-minute parking lot when they reached it. Something told him to call Stiles before he got out the car. “Morning, hot stuff.” Stiles answered on the second ring.

     "Hey. I'm here." He said, possibly too cheerful for his own well-being. 

     "You're where?" 

     "At the transit station place."

     "Oh cool. For what?"

     "To get…you're not fucking here, are you?"

     "I'm headed to work. Wait-did they actually trick you?" Stiles sputtered, honking with a shivering laughter. Jackson glared at the bus; he almost backed out of the parking lot when he spotted Isaac's bushy hair brush the roof of the second floor. "Oh god. I can't believe you fell for it." Stiles could barely form words because his laughing stole most of his breath. He teased him for being so gullible and letting McCall trick him. McCall-for Christ sakes. Jackson's jaw clenched, his teeth gritting, as he listened to Stiles harp on him. He pretended all of his jokes bothered him instead of the real reason; he slumped, disappointed that Stiles's wasn't currently bouncing off that bus. 

     "This conversation is over." He pulled the phone from his ear in one smooth jerk, yanking the phone from his ear. 

     "Wait, don't hang up. I'll make it up to you!" Stiles yelled before as his hand hovered over the button. "I'm sorry. Name it." 

      He smirked slyly, a plan already forming in his mind. "Fly out here. You can still make the party. I'll pay."

     "What?! It's only one night, crazy. Besides, I have that meeting with your dad in the morning."

     "Fuck that. Remember what you said, all work and no play. Come play with me, Stiles." He all but begged, now that the thought seemed too close to a reality. While Stiles whined, dragging his feet on a decision, he pulled up  _Orbitz.com_  to peruse plane tickets. Four hundred dollars, round trip, from Sacramento to Lexington. And, one left at two, California time, which gave him plenty time to make the party. "So?"

     Stiles' groans progressed from a softer grunting that said, ' _noo...don't do this to me,'_ to a longer, deeper groan that cried, _'but responsibilities_!' Why would Stiles choose his father when he could have the next best thing? He grinned, glancing over for a second to make sure Scott and Isaac didn't run off. They hadn't even noticed him, chatting together in their hefty coats while perched on the stone wall. He focused on Stiles when he started talking. "Ehhh, I really really want to. I mean, playing with you is hands down my favorite thing to do in this entire fucking world but it's 12 dollars an hour. My dad's a local government employee; I can't passed that up."

     "Ugh fine." He closed out the tab. Only him, McCall, and Isaac for the next twenty-four hours. Oh great. 

     "Don't be mad at me." Stiles pouted with his horrible baby voice. "Just--try relaxing. We're still Skyping at midnight so I'll make it up to you, then." He dipped his voice, suggestively. 

     "You better." He knew he sounded like a bratty child. 

     "And I'll do something else too. Haven't decided what yet, but it'll blow your mind. I'm about to be late so talk later?" Stiles said, trying to force excitement back into their conversation. Making their goodbyes, they hung up without their usual round of 'i love yous.' What would blow his mind was picking Stiles up from Lexington's sad excuse of an airport. He let that dream go, peering out the window at his new reality. Ugh, why must they look so happy?

     Jackson rolled down his window, blaring the horn at them. Scott, Isaac, and the other waiting bus riders, frazzled at his honk, snapping in his direction. Even with his shitty mood, his anger ebbed when Scott and Isaac turned their familiar grins on him. Together, they threw matching black duffles over their shoulders and bumbled across the street.

      Well, Scott bumbled, glancing both ways before scurrying over. Isaac, much more poised, swaggered behind him, not bothering to check for oncoming cars. The closer Scott got, he noticed a patch of hair lying limp over his lip. He tried so hard to stop the laugh festering inside him but, with each step, it got harder. Finally, when he saw the creeper mustache a few feet away, all of his disappointment drifted away. 

      "Where did that thing even come from? You didn't have it, a week ago. Did you?" He spent most of his time joking around with Stiles and Danny on the Skype that Scott could've had a mountain man beard and he wouldn't have known it. 

      "Ha ha ha. Laugh all you want." Scott defended himself. "Now, _out_ so we can do this proper." Scott threw open his door and snatched him into a loose hug. To be honest, he leaned into the warm feeling of pack. But, because he was Scott, he ruined the moment by smacking a fat kiss on his cheek. The cold tingled over the wet spot, reminding him that it happened. "Stiles told me to do that." Scott pushed him back to arm's length, gripping both of his shoulders. He actually found himself smiling genuinely at Scott, even while he scrubbed his saliva from his skin.

      "Why the hell am I happy to see you?" He grumbled, trying to tamper down on the happy hole in his face.  

      "Back atcha,' buddy! You smell different." Scott leaned in to sniff him, "Like, hay and bananas. It's weird." He gripped his shoulders before releasing him. "I call shotgun!" Scott bounced around the front of his truck. "Man, your truck is filthy. How bizarre is that." Scott documented the crazy discovery as Jackson glanced at Isaac, non-verbally questioning how he dealt with Scott for more than an hour. Smirking, Isaac slapped him on the back. 

         They both piled into the car, joining Scott who fiddled with the radio. He headed back for Paris without making a deal about it. They piled questions on him, inquiring about even the littlest detail about his life. Jackson didn't mind answering. Maybe, distance did make the heart grow fonder. He told them about his family, joining the swim team, and work on the weekends. Scott wanted him to relay all of his 'epic party stories' to which he obliged him, trying to amp up his lackluster tone of voice.  

       "Why don't you sound excited about tonight? It New Year's Eve!!" Scott pumped his hands to the ceiling, giving off too many excited endorphins. He paused to consider him when Jackson shrugged indifferently. 

       "Ehh, Out here, you go to one party, you hit em all." Scott sighed at his comment, like his lassiez-fare attitude constituted as a misdemeanor in the eyes of the law. "I'm serious. The only difference with this one is all the cutesy shit." He already planned to escape out the back well before the countdown started. Scott shook his head madly. 

       "Dude, we got you. It can be like pack night but only us three! You won't even think about Stiles. Here," Scott grabbed his phone from the cup holder. Again, Jackson allowed him to touch all over his phone. "Oh, you have a text from Stiles." Jackson told him to open it, focusing on the fast moving traffic. Scott danced to the radio as he slid open the message. "AHH! oH God!!!" Scott rumbled, throwing his extremely delicate phone in the air as if he grabbed a baking sheet straight from the oven. Startled, he swiveled into the next lane, causing the small compact car to duck out of their way with a mad hunk. Righting the truck, he grabbed his phone before it smashed against the dashboard.

      "What the fuck is wrong with-" He looked down at the screen, eyes wide at the picture. "Oh." A raw photo of Stiles's dick stared at him, all flushed pink and bulging. Jackson choked on the orange juice he had  _this morning_ , his face blotching the color of his dick. 

      "The freak, dude? Eyes on the road!" Scott's voice cracked, reaching to new heights as he plucked the phone from Jackson's grip. Only, he couldn't stomach looking at his best friend's dick again so he tossed it to Isaac. Jackson glanced at him through the rearview mirror. Isaac squinted trying to process the picture.

      Jackson knew the moment he caught on. Slack jaw, Isaac flicked between looking at him and staring down at Stiles's picture. "God damn. How is that even possible-" Jackson cut him off, frantically stretching his hand back to grab his phone. Isaac and his long ass arms held it out of reach. 

      "Isaac, I swear-" He snapped at the same time Scott began singing "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" at the top of his lungs. He and Isaac fought for the possession of his phone. Scott stealing it every time it landed in Jackson's lap. Isaac snickering when he dangled it out of Scott's reach. Him trying desperately to put the thing away. It turned into a battle of 'capture the phone' and Christmas carols. Until, whirling red and blue sirens crashed the party. "Fuck-" He struck his fist against the steering wheel as Scott and Isaac silenced immediately. They came to a slow stop, bumping over the ridges designed on the side of the road. "You're helping me pay this." He gritted when the stony officer emerged from his car. 

      "The hell we are. Who decided to sext their boyfriend in broad daylight?" Isaac challenged him, although he did stuff Jackson's phone in the back pocket as to hide it from the cop. Wearing matching innocent smiles, they used their numerous encounters with the Beacon Hills police to ease the situation. The officer took his license and registration, showing no emotion other than disdain. It tripled when Scott had to wade through candy wrappers to find it. He really needed to clean this thing. As he waited for his punishment, he thanked the heavens that they'd gotten stopped three miles outside of Paris limits. He would have gotten the ticket and the officer would have called his aunt.

       "Kid, you were going 87 in a 65. That's super speeding in my book but your record is clean so, I'll let you off easy." The officer commanded, handing him both his information and a flimsy white ticket. "Next time, don't let me catch you. We clear?" They shook their heads quickly. "Good, you three stay safe tonight." He walked off without tipping his hat, a disappointment in his book. He glanced at the ticket, $300 circled in bright red. He slumped back against the seat, saying goodbye to a paycheck. Four weeks of serving bratty kids chili-dogs and Slurpee’s, all for a speeding citation. Jackson tossed the slip at Scott, expecting him to throw it in the glove compartment.

          They veered back onto the highway, respectfully following the speed limit as the officer tracked their move. They spent the duration of the ride in silence, glancing at each other every so often. He kept coughing down a laugh when he thought about what Stiles would say about this. No doubt, he'd act all smug about the power and price of his dick. He could hear Stiles's dealing excitement and guilt crackling in his head. His disfigured smile shifted into a wide smile, which turned for a chuckle. Both Scott and Isaac tossed him an estranged glance, before they joined in, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. By the time, they pulled into the Pizza Vista parking lot, the moisture of his sweater collar French-kissed his neck.

       "Never, will we mention this moment again." He spoke into the contented atmosphere. Scott nodded, training his patented puppy smile on him. Jackson smirked, finding comfort in the familiarity. The both shifted to look at Isaac, only to find him STILL marveling down at his phone. 

       "Oh gross, Isaac." Scott coughed into his fist, though his body radiated with jealously. Interesting, Scott avoided his eyes when he shot him a questioning stare.

       "It's hypnotizing. Make it  _stop."_

       Helping him out, Jackson reached back, snatching his phone away. "Sorry, Lahey. Find your own." He hopped out before they commenced the awkward longing stares. "Give me a hand with this, will ya?" He directed it specifically to Isaac and Scott shrugged, propping his knees against the airbag. Together, they trampled over the leftover sludge to walk inside the warmth of his family's favorite local pizza joint. 

       "The Marks' kid!" His uncle's friend beamed at him when they walked up to the counter. Because, around town, the adults called all of them 'The Marks' kid.' Apparently, learning five separate names took too much effort. 

       "Hey, Mr. Germain. We ready to go?" Jackson made pleasantries for appearances.

       "Yep. Marjorie's almost done packing you up." The rail-thin man met them at the register, looking too much like the Swedish Chef for his own good. He spun a piecrust in the air before slapping it into the stone pizza oven. Jackson grinned at the man, almost disappointed that he'd trimmed his mustache since last week. The thing curled so long, he bet it touched their pizzas at least once. "Grab yourself some liters for the gang. On the house." Is it really on the house when they’re spending close to two hundred dollars on pizza?

       He turned to Isaac, extending the offer to him. Never one to turn down free anything, Isaac grabbed a Coke, a Sprite, a Fruit Punch, and a Fanta Strawberry as he paid the bill. Since the young girl stacking their pizzas worked on her own time, he led Isaac to one of the smaller tables in the front. The fool, clutching their four drinks, plopped down in the seat across from him.

       “This is so twilight zone, being here.” Isaac admitted, glancing around the cozy shop his family frequented often. “I never thought about it. Just that you went away. You like it?”

        He thought about that. “Some parts. Enough about me. What’s the progress on you and McCall? You corner that yet?”

      “Seriously. Shut up.” Isaac bit, ducking his head to hide from Scott’s view Lucky for them, Jackson turned the music up loud enough to stop him from eavesdropping. Jackson heard his tone-deaf singing from here. He tapped his ear and Isaac actually used the gifts Derek granted him. He physically relaxed when he caught on. “He’s not a rat. It’s not that easy.”

        “-but, isn’t it though? You want something. Take it.”

       “That what you do with Stiles?” Isaac snapped back. He almost felt bad for rubbing him for making him get so defensive but sometimes people need a little push.

      “That’s what I do with everything. Stiles, included. Tonight, do it before someone else does. If you can get over that block of hair.” He waited for Isaac to agree with him. “Good. Now, I need you to convince Scott not to blab to Derek.”

       “About what?” Isaac scouted closer to the table, now that Jackson piqued his interest.

        “One of my friends is a born- you know. And, if Scott tells Derek, he’ll roll up lecturing about territories and pack divides. I don’t wanna deal with that crap. TJ’s chill and I already did the whole intimidating-alpha-dinner-at-the-house thing.”

        “You met his alpha?” Isaac gaped, echoing him as if he committed a werewolf misdemeanor. Marjorie, having finally finished their pizzas, called his name and they move the conversation over to the counter. “You sure they’re not setting you up? Keep your enemies closer kind of thing.”

        “Doubt it. They're animal-loving pacifists.” He grabbed nine of the pizzas, having Isaac carefully lay the box of wings on top. They stared at the other six plus the four drinks. “You’ll talk to him?” After a long scrutiny, Isaac gave in, nodding succinctly. “Thanks.” He grinned at him over the pizzas. With that settled, they both turned on Marjorie, giving her charismatic smirks.

        “Hi, would you mind giving us a hand?” Isaac took the charismatic request right out of his mouth. Without protest, the girl snatched up the four bottles and followed Isaac out, all but drooling on the Sprite. 

 

* * *

 

       He could hear the beat all the way from the bottom of the stairs. Jackson frowned at the crowds of people he'd have to pass to reach the "VIP" room. He'd rather steal chips from cocky freshmen at the poker tables than journey through this the darkened staircase. Unfortunately, he had to find Scott and Isaac. Tell them he was heading off. Jackson pushed his way through the bodies to reach the top, slipping in between couples searching for a sliver of darkness and assholes blocking the stairs because they could. Strangers called out to him. "Hey dude. Cool party." "Ayy! Fifty dolla bill." "Wanna dance, cutie?"

       He flipped a wave at all of them, declining the last girl. Not accepting no for an answer, her hand grazed his butt, lingering too long. Jackson spun around, snarling at her when she laughed it off. His eyes may have bled electric blue then someone forced him up the stairs. He whipped on the other person, finally admitting to himself that maybe coming up here wasn't the best idea. 

       "Whoa. Calm down, Killa. It's just me." TJ held his hands back, smirking wide, though his eyes swept over him with concern. "We gotta work on that control."

      "Shut up." Jackson chuckled, following TJ upstairs as he forced the sea to part for them. Jackson was sure he wasn't the only one of them quick to snap. But, come to think of it, he'd never seen TJ lose even the tiniest bit of control. He followed him up the second flight without one hand on his body. They both stepped onto the top landing together and sighed. One thing after the other. Drew, in his cliched black hoodie, guarded the door. The guy hopped up from his boring post when he caught the two of them approaching. 

       "Sorry Princesas, no ball for yall." Smug, Drew stepped in front of the door, blocking both sides of flowing traffic with his body. The music did a bang up job of swallowing his voice so, they both pretended not to hear him. They grinned at each other and physically hoisted him from the door. "The fuck are you doing, freaks?" Drew's tiny feet dangled in the air as he tried to kick them. By passers chuckled when they plopped him down on his little stool.

        "Have fun." They called back to him and shimmied into the abyss of a room. Before Drew could grab them, the mosh pit captured them first. They walked along the length of the room, adjusting to the red and white flickering strobe lights. "Why are you here if you hate crowds?"

        "Looking for my friends." He shouted back, forgetting for a second that he didn't have to. In a normal tone, he finished, "It's almost midnight. I gotta go-"

       "Call Stiles. I know. They're over there." TJ pointed to the farthest corner, where Isaac and Scott swayed to the music without a centimeter of space between their bodies. Pride surged through him when Isaac leaned down to kiss Scott. Though, Scott responded hesitantly, he clinged tighter to Isaac's shirt, pushing into him. Even when the beat dropped and the entire room jumped, they moved together in an unhurried pace. Finally. A goofy smile spread across his face, even as a pang settled in his stomach.

        TJ, no better off than him, actually dropped his everlasting smarmy demeanor to watch them in their blissful bubble. "I'm guessing this is a long time coming?" He asked, without turning into him. 

       "You have no fucking idea." he said, snapping out of the celebratory trance they held over him. "You ready?" He glanced at the sea of bodies and then at his friend. TJ winked as he ran a steady hand through his hair. Meanwhile, his own fist clenched at the thought of sliding through another crowd again. He turned off his brain when TJ pushed through the first wave of people. Following behind him before the space filled up again, Jackson forced himself to relax.

         He allowed the raw atmosphere to influence his inhibitions, bobbing to the music. With every few feet of progress, there was a human who decided to use one of them as a stripper pole. The first time, when it was TJ, he doubled over in laughter, watching his sour, disgusted snarl as some girl grinded over his zipper. Then, it happened to him, times two. A girl, he vaguely knew from school, slid up to him, a devious smirk on her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck as TJ returned the favor of laughing at them. He shocked both of them by grabbing her hips, moving them to the bass boiling in their blood. Stiles did tell him to try having a good time. They grinded together in time with the music and the random guy behind him took that as an invitation to join. Before he knew it, a boner was making love to his spine. Like a loud alarm clock, that broke him away from their horny sandwich. They filled the gap where his body stood seamlessly, almost as if he'd never existed. Jackson smirked, leaving them to their debauchery. 

       "Ok, Abercrombie. I see you." TJ pushed him teasingly back in the direction of Isaac and Scott. Having already unleashed the gate to crazy, he danced the rest of their journey. 

        "Hey. Love birds." He tapped on Isaac's back when they finally made it across the room. Startling, Isaac whipped around, sneering playfully at him while Scott ducked behind him, still clinging to his shirt. They both looked grimy, sweating from their foreheads all the way down to their soaked shirts. "Sorry to disturb this-" He looked them over. "but I'm heading out. Text me if you want a ride back. Or you can walk with Z and them."

        Isaac's voice croaked when he first tried to answer and blushed, embarrassed. TJ winked at them from the sidelines, since they still weren't entirely comfortable around him yet. "We remember the way back." 

        "Alright. As you were soldiers." He saluted, leaving them to have their fun. Together, he and TJ sliced back through the crowd easier than the first time. Instead of heading back the way they came, they pushed through the back staircase. He relished in the lit, vacant hallway. "Shit, its like a fire hazard in there." He said, finally catching a breath and TJ chuckled behind him. "You want a ride to your car? Or you sticking around?" He asked, when they broke through the first floor door. TJ glanced around all the youthful excitement on the first floor and chose the first option. Thankfully, Z huddled with attitude girl on the couch nearest the exit. She'd taking off her heels and swung her feet into his lap. Jackson rolled his eyes; everybody was coupling up tonight, except him. Well, and TJ but, he doubt that'd last for too long. "Save some room for Jesus." He smacked Z's hand off her thigh, playing into his role of overprotective family member. She glared at him from behind her Chute of Sprite but, Z snickered, shifting up to look at them.

        "You're leaving already? But what about the whole counting cards thing?" 

            Mrs. Attitude whacked him on the shoulder. "Ezra!" 

        "What?! I want that iPad." He whispered into her ear and she giggled. Jackson almost vomited on sight. Glancing at his watch, he had only eleven minutes before midnight. Eleven minutes wasn't enough to get them seated at the table, let alone started on a lesson.

        "I got you, junior. Let me grab my car first."  TJ made the decision for him, ruffling Z's Bieber swoop like he was a show poodle. Z grimaced, torn between hating him for ruining his style and elated about the cards thing. "Well, times a ticking. I'll be back." TJ hurried him out the door, swerving around the "cool" kids hanging outside. Snow crunched underneath their shoes as they headed for the truck parallel parked between two dickheads. 

    When he pulled up behind the house, he expected  to find it empty. Clanking laughter emanated from the kitchen and they glanced at each other before focusing harder. He immediately wished he hadn't. Jackson snapped back, horrified as a feminine moan punched the air. Adrien's voice followed after her. On edge, Jackson was ready to stop TJ from charging into the house. When he swiveled around to face him, his friend shrugged his shoulder indifferently. As chill and unperturbed as always.

        "What? It's chill, J. He can do whatever he wants. Text me tomorrow yeah?" Smiling too wide, TJ winked before hopping from the car. Something about his straight posture and his sickly kind eyes didn't sit right with him. He personally waited for TJ to bob over to his SUV and drive away. Not quite sure what to do himself, Jackson pealed from the truck. Maybe, he could sneak past them and lock himself in his room. He cracked the door enough to slide through. Oh god. The grunts. Jackson cringed with each step. Right at the steps, a force stopped him from pushing upwards. Maybe, the loyalty he was starting to feel towards his one real friend here. Whatever it was, it made him spin around towards the kitchen with a disgusted grimace. Vodka soaked in the air near this part of the house. Making up his mind, he flipped on the lightly casually, pretending as if he didn't see them. 

       "Oh god. Shit." He faked a nervous laugh when Ade and his girl fell apart, the sound of suctioned skin following her squeals. As Ade tucked in, she ducked down behind the island to cloak her naked body from his eyesight, a gestured very well appreciated. "Really though? We ate breakfast on that counter this morning." He joked, quite enjoying his cousin's aggravated scowl when he casually opened the fridge for a Sprite. If he looked hard enough, he could probably make out ass cheeks smudges on the counter. "Don't mind me. Carry on." He spun on his heels to exit when glass shattered outside. Alarmed, their heads jerked to the sound. Jackson took off outside, knowing exactly who was responsible. Ade followed after him, only stopping for shoes. 

        He caught one look at TJ's crazed eyes and decided to stay right where he was. Call it self preservation. Jackson watched Ade storm towards his truck, inspecting the broken glass on the ground. "T, what the hell?!" He roared, slamming his fist down onto the hood. TJ shrugged innocently, dropping the metal pipe from his grip. It clang to the ground. Ms. Birthday suit came skittering up beside him, clothes on, when Adrien charged at him, knocking them both to the ground with a hard thump. 

        "Are you going to stop them?" She asked him and Jackson glanced at her like she lost her mind. Hell no. He wasn't getting in the middle of that. Then, he caught TJ's eyes glint gold when they tumbled around the concrete in a ball of limbs and hatred. 

       Instinct kicked in and Jackson sprinted over to them, forcibly yanking his friend back. He hid his transformed face from Ade's view in case he didn't know the Daniels' family secret. TJ snapped on him but Jackson rolled his eyes, too done with both of their shit. _Who needed control now?_  Jackson dragged him to the truck and pushed him into the passenger's seat. He tossed Ade an apologetic frown before speeding away from the house. Taking the back exit to avoid traffic, Jackson rolled down TJ's window and kept driving. At the first stoplight, three miles out, he glanced at his dashboard clock. 12:13am. And there went his entire fucking night. Fuming, he punched down on the gas pedal. 

* * *

 

     

         It started snowing around the second hour. Still, as they stewed in their own bubbles, Jackson kept burning through gas. He stopped watching the clock because the further it ticked away from midnight, the more his fingers squeezed the steering wheel. Together, their anger balanced in a see-saw. TJ would calm down but then Jackson would get agitated all over again. Then, they'd switch until the cycled restarted itself. He knew technically that he shouldn't be angry.

       Compared to their shit show, his relationship with Stiles was radiant, a relationship carved by angelic greek gods. But, he hyped their midnight talk up in his mind, as if everything leading to it was an amateur pre-show to the main performance. In turn, it took them awhile to find a healthy medium and when they did, Jackson u-turned in the middle of the road. As promised, Z and Leal had everybody out by the time he rolled up to the curb. He left the heat on for TJ as he hopped out to get Isaac and Scott.

         Cups and trash were strewed everywhere inside and the banana smell from earlier gave way to pure BO. Jackson pushed through it, faking a casual smile. Scott, Isaac, Leal, and Z, laughing at one of the cleaner tables, glanced over at him. Sensing his agitation, Scott and Isaac immediately jumped up from the table, meeting him in the middle. He felt bad for wiping the exhausted smiles off their face.

      "What happened?" Scott demanded, scanning him for injuries while Isaac stood as more a quiet concern behind him. Jackson nodded his head, not wanting to get in it again. He glanced at his cousins and Isaac took the hint, forcing Scott towards the door. He waited, listening until they successfully piled into the truck before speaking. 

        His energy drained from his body as he plopped down in Isaac's old chair. They both waited patiently for him to explain why he'd been MIA fro the last few hours. "So, Ade needs new windows. Is there somewhere he can leave his truck?"

       It took only one command from Leal, " _Explain,"_ and Jackson did. Not knowing, how much they knew about their intimate relationship, Jackson kept those details out of it. At the end of his long story, Z and Leal frowned at each other, knowingly. Then, they turned their frowns on him. "We'll take care of it. Here." Leal shifted from the table to pull a set of keys from his back pocket. "Take your friends to my house. TJ too. He can't go home like this. But be quiet, Tiff's finally sleeping these days." Leal dropped the keys in his palm. "You weren't there. Got it?" Jackson nodded yes, more than confused on why it was a huge deal. It was only a few smashed windows. "There's bacon, eggs, and biscuits in the fridge if you guys want breakfast. I'll see you in the morning." They smiled at him, reassuringly and Jackson took that as his dismissal. 

        They stopped by Taco Bell before crawling up to Leal's house. If Scott and Isaac's stomach rumbled any louder, they'd wake Tiffany for sure. Somehow, their rustling plastic and sloshing drinks didn't disturb her as he pushed opened the door, leading them into the living room. TJ automatically closed himself into the guest bedroom and they let him go.

        "You sure everything's ok? We don't have to call Derek, do we?" Scott whispered yelled at him. Ugh. Jackson rolled his eyes, mentally begging Isaac to help him out. True to his word, Isaac shoved his Triple Steak Burrito in face and Scott forgot life existed. He nearly bit off Isaac finger for a bite. 

       Grinning, he wiggled his brows at Isaac suggestively before heading for the back porch. "Keep it down in there. I'll be back" He muttered as he settled on the porch swing. Nearly four o'clock for the morning for him meant there was a good chance Stiles was still up. As the phone rang, Jackson pulled his coat tighter to his chest. 

        "Thought you'd forgotten about me. I prepped and everything." Stiles didn't bother with hellos and he smiled at the sound of his voice.

        "Mmm. I like the sound of that." He thought back to the photo from earlier, "Tell me."

       "I put on my- wait, what's wrong?" Stiles stopped prematurely, right when his mood was lightening. When he didn't respond, Stiles filled in the gap with his chatter. "Whatever it is, it'll be fine. We all have shitty days. Some more than most. Happy New Years, by the way."

         "Yeah Yeah but it's not the same. Midnight was like four hours- ahhh. Time difference. I forgot."

        "I figured that's why you're so grumpy."

       "Shut up, I'm not grumpy." A second away from folding his arms like a child, he huffed. "I was looking forward to tonight. I feel like we don't ever talk." He admitted quietly, swinging back and forth on the bench. 

       "That's cause we don't but, we'll get better. Like we'll make a schedule or something. And phone sex! That should be a thing. On the regular. I'm talking like-once a week. Hell, a few times a week." Stiles joked about it, but, he wasn't finding the humor in it. 

        He liked his idea better, though he could get behind the phone sex. "I think I'm gonna come home early." 

      Stiles fell silent and Jackson worried that he broke him. Despite the fact that he's been considering the idea for awhile now, he planned on keeping it to himself. But, Stiles always manages to yank his most private thoughts from him without even trying. Eventually, after Stiles processed that statement, he muttered, "It's that bad?"

       "No. Yes. I...miss you. And the pack. But mostly you. And occasionally Danny. Maybe, I should apologize to my dad and move back. Things'll go back to normal." 

        Stiles sighed. "Jackson, your normal sucked. The second you get back here, you'll be all restless again. Beacon Hills isn't going anywhere. Enjoy getting to know your family for awhile. Not that I don't want you to come back or anything." 

         He let Stiles words soak in.  "Stop being so smart."

        "How else am I going to balance out your crazy?" He snickered. Jackson smiled, breathing in the sound of his voice. Stiles didn't make fun of him for it. "Speaking of crazy, Scott told me Isaac drooled on my penis. You have a lot of explaining to do."

        Thinking about the car ride, he threw his head back in an ab tightening laugh. "He told you?! We made a promise!" And like that, the mood lightened. Jackson told him the story from the beginning: Scott's tone deaf singing, his ticket, Isaac's brief obsession with his phone. Stiles cackle uncontrollably at the story, adding his comments here and there. After that, he told him about the awkwardly hilarious introduction Scott and Isaac had with his Kentucky friends and how Scott sized them up, making sure they "never, ever let him sleep through another party again." Then, Stiles made him detail every second of catching them on the dance floor. The phone stayed pressed to his ear until the sky shifted from black to sapphire. 

         "Isn't it like 5 in the morning for you? Get some sleep."

         "I get plenty of sleep. All I can do is sleep or go to work. I'm so bored, I'm actually excited for school to start again." 

      Stiles's smile bled through the phone. "I meant that you have to take the newlydaters to the bus stop in three hours." Right. He totally forgot about that. "Skype on Wednesday right? 11'oclock?"

          "Yeah. 11'oclock. My time, don't forget." Jackson already created two alerts in his phone and one alarm clock. 

           Stiles cackled. "Baby, I'm not the forgetful one in this relationship. Who forgot to-"

          "Good night Stiles. I love you." He sang over his story, ending the call. He waited for the text he knew was headed his way. His phone vibrated.

_**You hung up on me.**_

**_Rude._ **

**_And we were having such a good night too. smh._ **

**_JK. Love you too. sweet dreams. things will be better in the morning._  **

       Jackson smiled down at his messages, set his alarm for 7am, and hopped off the bench. He crept back into Leal's house, kicking the door closed with his foot. He toed passed his cousin's bedroom, careful as to not make too much noise. With the baby ready to slide out any day now, she'd be extra cranky. They've already had enough of that tonight. Jackson navigated around the kitchen table expertly, using muscle memory as his guide. In the living room, Scott and Isaac passed out in the large La-Z-Boy recliner. He chuckled at the hardcore cuddle session. Scott cushioned his head on the armrest while Isaac slumped over, snuggling him from behind. Someone threw a fitted sheet over them so Jackson let them be. But, not without snapping a picture for the pack first. Once he shot it off to the group, he grabbed both his and TJ's food and sauntered over to the closed guestroom door. He knocked.

           "Come in." TJ murmured, putting away his phone as Jackson pushed into the room. He shuffled over on the bed to make room for him. 

           "You forgot your food." He emptied the contents of their cold tacos and Fiesta Potatoes onto the comforter. Without a word, they dug in, separating their food into two small piles. They ate in silence, until he couldn't take the suspense anymore.

            "Look, TJ-" Jackson started, disturbing the silence. 

           "You know he started that, right?" He said randomly, chomping a hole into the second part of his Quesadilla. Jackson didn't know that; he took a bite of his third soft taco, shaking his head no. "Yep, seventh grade. TJ the BJ. Fucking cock-sucker." But, he spat it with fondness, like it was your average cute memory. 

           Jackson choked on a large slice of onion, trying not to laugh at that. TJ the BJ was possibly the cruelest nickname anyone could acquire in Middle School. He wondered if people still called him that behind his back. "How long have you two been-" He paused, the words not wanting to come out of his mouth. TJ arched an brow at him impatiently. "Fuck you. Don't make me say it. I'm trying here." 

          "I'm only busting your balls, J." He chuckled, patting him on the back. "A lot longer than you and Stiles." What was he supposed to do with that? Jackson glared at him, waiting for a proper answer. He's used to waiting out Derek so, TJ's bitch faces don't intimidate him. "Fine, nosy." The guy couldn't even hold out for one minute. As if admitting this pained him, he scrunched his eyes shut, mentally preparing for Jackson's response. "Give or take....five years. " 

          "What?!" Cheese spewed from his mouth when he blurted louder than he needed to. They froze, listening for motion near the wall that connected to Leal's bedroom. They relaxed. Still, he didn't know whether to laugh or dry heave. His brain whirled, completing the quick math of birthdays and ages. "You've been freaking my cousin since you were thirteen?! God, that's so...disturbing." 

          TJ tried shutting him up by pushing him off the bed. He probably didn't want Jackson seeing the pink tinged to his cheek. "Don't even try to act like you didn't go through an experimental phase." 

           "Not one that lasted five fucking years!" He hissed, still trying to wrap his head around that. "No wonder you can't get your shit together. You're still acting like middle schoolers in a Pokemon card battle."

            "Fuck off." TJ, actually pissed off now, glared at him in warning with luminescent gold eyes. 

           Jackson scoffed. Now that they've unleashed the puppy, it wanted to play more. That's what happens when you have years of suppressed anger bottled inside of you. He learned that the tough way too. Lowering his voice, Jackson cleared his throat. "I'm being honest cause no one else will. You like each other? Great, go at it. You like fucking each other? That's cool too, if a little nauseating. Whatever it is you want, talk about it like the almost adults you are. If Stiles cheated on me, hell even if Lydia cheated on me, I wouldn't bust out her window. Argue and fuck it out like the rest of us." He hadn't realized how many words spurted from his mouth until he finished his lecture with a wheezing breath. Jackson panted, not seeing how people could talk so much in such a short amount of time. TJ surveyed him with new found respect, genuinely grinning at him. 

            "It's more complicated than that." He finally replied, dumping his taco wrappers into the bag.

           Jackson took the hint, balling up all of his trash too. "Clearly," he stated the obvious, "But if you want it bad enough, you'll work through it. You have to or you'll end up killing each other. Now scoot over, this heart to heart bullshit is making me sleepy." He tossed their trash into the bin by the door and slid underneath the covers on his side. TJ snapped off his lamp and darkness descended over the room, with the exception of the moonlight trying to see through the sheer curtains. They laid in the King sized bed in silence, adjusting every few seconds until a comfortable position found him. He couldn't say how many minutes or hours passed when TJ mumbled from his side.

           "For the record," he started then paused, "I'd be a little pissed if you left. Sorry about the whole midnight thing too. You and Stiles are lucky to have each other." 

           Jackson tampered down on his grin, stopping it with his pillow. "Yeah well, five years from now, I'm sure we'll be as fucked up. At least, you've stuck with each others' crazy this long. Also for the record, this conversation never happened."

           He heard TJ's chuckle over the restless rustle of the comforter. "Works for me, Abercrombie. I'll be gone when you wake up. Don't cry." 

           "I'll do my best." They laughed, shifting into sleep. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr if you ever need someone to go crazy with.](http://manspirations.tumblr.com/)  
> Happy Thanksgiving!


	20. Feburary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight Valentine's Dates for Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (picture disclaimer)  
> (teen wolf disclaimer)  
> 

     Stiles clutched both his stomach and his mouth as he buckled down to meet Scott’s carpet. “Ahhhhh,” he moaned, rolling his belly against the wonderful-wonderful plushiness. “Carpet meet my food baby.”

       “You’re ridiculous,” Scott snickered **,** stepping over his torso. Stiles heard him collapse onto his bed with a contented sigh. Who needed a mattress when you had a thousand little balls of nylon massaging your body? Together, in their own separate worlds, they laid there with five helpings of mac and cheese raging in their bellies. Curse Ms. McCall and her miraculous cooking. Curse himself for not listening to his dad after helping #3. Honestly, Stiles could lounge on this floor for all eternity. He had water or several mostly empty bottles near his reach, food, if you counted the disfigured granola bars in Scott’s pockets, and finally, he had his best buddy, the only best buddy a person needed. 

 _Bzzzzz._  “Nooo,” He groaned at the vibration feeling up his crotch. Stiles yanked it out. Without the hunky metal jutting into his side, he cuddled closer to Ms. Carpet.

        “Who is that? You’ve been texting all night.” Scott asked as he propped up on his elbows. Stiles mirrored the image. 

       “Adrien,” he said in an extravagant sigh. “Apparently, my body radiates ‘please, tell me all your problems.’ I’m not even a good listener.” He read Ade’s message, another one about that vapid munch bucket. 

       “Of course you are.” Scott beamed at him, showering him with the Scott-Life-Approval- Stamp. “Remember that one time I came to you about Isaac-”

       “And, I started playing _2048_ halfway through? Yeah. I remember.” He grunted; immediately, he felt like a dick, but his sour mood stopped him from apologizing. Instead, he barreled on, “I mean- he’s my friend but, I’m tired of hearing ‘bout other people’s shit. I got my own crap to deal with.” His mind flipped between the dead end on his Laura case and the six hundred-page book that Mr. Whittemore required he read before starting work in a month.Forget joining the track team; he threw away that idea. A scowl captured the veil of faux happiness on his face. Gawking at this new side of him, Scott shimmied off the bed to lay at his side. Sometimes, he forgot that he'd only known Scott for six months. Moments like these reminded him. 

       “You wanna talk about it?” Scott offered in the eerie silence. They stared up at the prickly ceiling, watching the fan swirl round and round.

       “No.” He mumbled. Scott gave him the look that said, _I'm your best friend. You have to talk to me.'_ He didn't survive under the pleading eyes. “Ugh. I’m playing goddman Switzerland to Jackson and Ade. And you know when Jackson’s angry, the entire world’s angry. Plus, I have to listen to Ade complain about that vain Ken doll Jackson calls a friend-”

       “He’s actually kind of nice,” Scott chimed, always playing devil’s advocate. “I think you might like him. He watches _Falling Skies,_ too.”

       “Not you too, Scotty.” He ran a frustrated hand through the gelled mess of his hair. “On top of Mr. Popular, stupid freaking Valentine’s Day is next week.”

      “So that’s what this is about...” Scott wrapped his mouth in a small circle. He shifted onto his side to face Stiles. “It’s one day, Stiles. If you want, I can take you on a bro date. No Isaac allowed.”

     How can he remain angry when Scott’s being so thoughtful? Stiles deflated, pressing his shoulders deeper into the fluffiness. “Nahh, you spend time with Isaac. Thanks, though.” He patted Scott on the shoulder. “Besides, I don’t want to make Adonis jealous. Clearly, I’m Narcissus of all dates.” He tossed his false golden locks over his shoulder, playing into the joke. Although Scott still watched him carefully, he laughed, raspy and slow like it pained him to create such noise.

      “How would I know that if you won’t go out with me?” Scott pouted playfully. Getting excited, he tilted his head up and stroked his bald chin. “I know. We can do it on Friday. Eat at that Italian place you like. Go laser tagging. Catch a movie. Mess around in Wal-Mart. Hit up the arcade. Yoooooo. You’ll be soo tired; you’ll sleep right through the big day. Nothing but snoozes.” More of the plan came to him, judging by the goofy smile and rapid head nods. Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Oh. Oh! Then, you can do your weekly Skype date with Jack in the Beanstalk and …do whatever else it is you two do alone over the internet. Come on Stiles. You know you want to. Pleasepleasepleaspleasepleaseeeeee.” Scott whined, rocking his head from side to side with his mouth stretched open as if a doctor probed a tongue depressor down his throat. 

      “Oh my god. Fine!” Stiles succumbed, throwing his hands in the air. “But when Isaac threatens me, I’m blaming you.”

      “Yes!” Scott suckered his limbs around his body, all four of them. His arms and legs clung to Stiles, gripping him tight until he reciprocated. When he finally did, they gripped him even tighter. Stiles grimaced, but waves of tension wafted from his body. 

* * *

**Text Messages between Scott and Jackson.**

 

**Scott (9:12): Yo dickbrain I have an idea.**

_Jackson (9:16): Why are you texting me?_

**Scott (9:17): cuz your drama is making him angsty**

_Jackson (9:19): What’s wrong with Stiles?_

**Scott (9:20): Do you want to hear it or not**

_Jackson (9:21): Give me ten. Call when I get home._

* * *

__

      On Friday, they ran around town until three am. When they trampled back to Stiles’s house, Scott whisper-shouted, "Encore!" With his hands punching the air, Scott led him upstairs to his Xbox. High on fun, they played for hours, until the sky shifted from black rose to periwinkle blue. Scott had to guide his heavy limbs under the covers, throwing away all the accumulated snack trash around him. Once his head touched the pillow, he lost consciousness. Always one for a plan, he slept. Slumbered. Snoozed. Caught some zzz’s. Dreamed of lollipop forests and gumdrop fairies.

      ♫  _Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run._ _You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess…_ ♫

Stiles flailed out of bed, clutching his head at the ongoing construction work in his brain. The sun now invaded his blinds as he searched for that god-awful sound. It  progressed louder with each second. He checked his phone, hoping that maybe Scott played a sick prank on him. Yep, like the time Stiles changed the kid’s ringtone to _Tubthumping_ by chumbawamba _._ (Only, Scott actually liked that song.) He thought about sending it to voicemail. Unfortunately, for him, not only would Jackson take the hint, he’d ignore it. “‘ello…” He murmured into the earpiece. On the other end, the asshole chatted with someone else casually. Of course, he’d get butt dialed on the most important day for romance. Somehow, this moment summarized their entire relationship. Why did he found it endearing? Stiles wet his pillow with a saliva-filled grin. “I’m hanging up now. Bye.” Grunting, he tossed the phone to the side and buried his head deeper under the covers. The silence returned. _Ahh._ Sleep. Slumber. Snoo-

        ♫  _Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run._ _You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess, it's a love story, baby, just say, 'yes_ ♫

         “GAH!” He snatched his phone again and slammed his thumb over the green button. “Why do you hate me?!” He grumbled into the earpiece. 

       “You hung up on me. I was paying for food.” Jackson practically beamed in his ear, happier than he’d heard him in weeks. Stiles squinted, adding suspicion to his early morning crabbiness.

         “No I didn’t…” Stiles paused; he might have heard an ‘and, here’s your receipt sir’ somewhere in there. “Shut up.”

         “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, frumpy face.” Jackson said and he could hear the grin in his voice. Somehow, that made him even grumpier.

         “I’m not the frumpy one.”

         “Seriously,” Jackson’s smile wavered, “That’s what you got out of that. You’re awfully frumpy right now.”

         “Ugh. Is there a point to this conversation?” He buried under the covers. As he scowled, he knew it would send Jackson crashing down to his level.

         “Stiles.” His voice returned to its normal, monotonous tone. Picturing the scowl on Jackson’s face made him smile the slightest bit. He felt a sliver of remorse, taking away Jackson’s one good mood. Not enough to apologize, though. “What’s with you today? I know you live for this sappy shit.” It’s true. He did. Technically, today would mark the first year he’d have someone to spend it with that wasn’t his father or the Hales.

          “Yeah, well, not today. I’m sleeping. All day.” He admitted more to his pillow than his boyfriend.

          Jackson scoffed, “Or you can get out of bed, pick your ass up, and be the Stiles that doesn’t piss me off. We can deal with angsty, bitchy Stiles tomorrow.”  

          “And, why would I do that?” He challenged.

          “Because, you want your presents.” 

           Stiles pushed up on his elbows. “Is it you in this bed?” he asked. 

           Jackson paused on the other side, making him actually hopeful. “…no.” Of course, it wasn't. He slumped back down. 

           “Then, I’ll pass. Bye.” He raised his head so that the phone slid down the curve of the pillow.

          Before he ended the call, he heard Jackson yell, “I swear to God, Stiles. If you hang up this fucking phone, I will-” The rest of that sentence belonged to the Matrix. Stiles wiggled until his comfortable spot returned. A second later, his phone illuminated with a text.

_No presents for you, Mr. Stilinski. Very disappointed in your behavior_

         He laughed, throwing his head back against the pillow. Their last skype replayed in his head, Jackson making fun of Harris’s hatred boner for him. His message chiseled off a few of Stiles’s layers and he couldn’t resist the temptation. Releasing his arms from the deep depths of his comforter, Stiles swiped across the screen. 

**You gonna punish me? Bend me over the desk?**

_Don’t tempt me. Get the fuck up and go to the bathroom_

**Why?**

_Don’t ask questions. call you after this traffic_

**where you going?**

_what did I say about questions? Go._

**Sir yes sir.**

         It pained him to deviate from the plan. Stiles slipped from the covers and toed quickly out his room. The second his feet hit the hallway’s hardwood flooring he hissed. He crept closer, the floorboards crying underneath his weight. Pushing the door open with his big toe, he peered inside. All looked normal- “AHHH!” He released a screech when he caught a figure on his toilet. Someone died on his toilet. Oh god, Jackson killed someone and put it on his toilet. A very hairy someone…wait. He kicked the door open; it swung until the knob banged against the wall.

         The light confirmed that Jackson didn’t turn into a serial killer, only a boy who didn’t understand the concept of proper Valentine’s Day gifts. His head tilted in an attempt to process the red life-sized teddy bear pretending to take a crap in his toilet. The bear's furry ass perched on the open bowl and whoever put it there taped his arm so that it clutched the towel rack. Simultaneously, disgusted and impressed, Stiles grimaced a smile. The culprit covered his lovey-dovey expression with drawn-paper ones. His new eyes, the pen scrawled black orbs, wore eyebrows shaped in a fuming V. The mouth? Stiles could do without the gritted fangs and clenched scowl. 

         He plucked the white envelope from the bear’s checkered bow-tie cautiously, as if the thing might spring to life and chomp off his hand. In Jackson’s precise half cursive-half print, the envelope read, _for Stilinski. or Stiles._ He drew an arrow to his nearly perfect-circled names, _couldn’t decide which one to use._ Stiles shook his head, beaming brighter than a Playboy bunny after they’ve landed centerfold.

         The front, in black, red, and gray words said, “I’m only in this for your cute butt. Obviously. Happy Valentine’s day.” He chuckled, opening the card to read the message on the inside. A small folded paper floated to the ground; he caught it in between his toes as he read.

_Don’t shit on our day, Stiles. See what I did there? Ha. I’m a genius. Do what they say. I expect good reports. Sorry I’m not there. I love you. PS. next year, we’ll have to do this right. Can’t have you sulking all damn day._

         He glanced between the bear and the note for seconds too long. He’d have kept at it if his toe didn’t cramp from clinching the square between his toes. Clearing his throat, Stiles reached down for that one too. 

****

 

 _Downstairs?_ In a haste, he refolded all of the paper to scramble out the door. With all of his senses fully alert, he noticed that he missed the smell of Hickory Bacon in the air. Or, the hum of the TV. They really did need to discuss the pack’s free reign on his house. Stiles tracked the smell all the way to his living room, where Erica sprawled out on his couch, shoes off, watching _Justice League_ on _his_ Netflix. What person over fifteen utilized the cartoon section of Netflix? He tripped over his feet to step fully into the room. On the coffee table, she placed two white plastic bags emanated the juiciest of smells.

      “Wondered when you’d finally make it down here.” She said, without turning from the TV. Lifting her legs, Stiles slid under them before settling them on his lap. “So…” She paused the pixelated fight scene on the screen. “I know we're supposed to make this all cute and shit but, I’m hella tired.” She gestured to her gray jogging pants and Boyd’s long sleeve BHHS lacrosse shirt. He could do without the visuals that implication surmised. “If it’s all good with you, we can lay here, eat, and watch this surprisingly entertaining show.”

       Now, that he could do. Patting her leg, he agreed, “Works for me.” His stomach growled as she leaned over to grab the bag that belonged to him. Nothing but bacon grease filled his nostril. “Hmmm. Bacon.” He gnashed on the first thick slice. “You’re my favorite.”

       “I know, cutie. Now shh. Watch the show.”

       An hour later, Scott and Isaac let themselves in through his front door, gleaming impossibly wide for 10:30 in the morning. “You’re actually up?” Scott joked as he hopped over the back of the couch to plop down on top of them. Isaac scoffed, lowering down into his dad’s armchair. He looked rather posh in that oversized scarf. 

       “Why didn’t you leave us any food?” Scott pouted, fishing through the containers for any leftovers. They both smirked at each other over his head and together, shoved him to the floor.

       “It was my time. Not yours.” She defended herself, poking her tongue at a dejected Scott and an unimpressed Isaac. Stiles shook his head at their petty feud.

      “Well… It’s 10:31 so now; it’s our time and not yours.” Scott sneered at her. Children. They were all children. “Come on, Stiles. We’ll be in the car.” They didn’t give him much room to refute, leaving as fast as they appeared. The door slammed behind them. Stiles sighed, dusting off his biscuit crumbs. Erica made no move to get up. If anything, she squirmed farther into the cushion. 

       Stiles left her to change upstairs. He took a quick shower, only after transferring the shit bear to his room, threw on some jeans and a shirt, and headed back downstairs with his phone, wallet, and keys in his pocket. By the time, he came back downstairs, she’d already conked out. With her mouth wide open, Erica slumped half over her body to the floor. Stiles turned off his Roku and TV without making a sound. He draped a blanket over her body and tiptoed to the door. 

       Unexpectedly, Isaac hopped in the back of Miss McCall’s car, giving him the front. Instead of accepting the offer and alienating him, Stiles slid in the back too. From the rearview, Scott thanked him with a short head nod.

       “So, where you two love birds taking me?” He asked, fastening his seatbelt. Isaac slid a hand through his curls to hide the tinge of pink on his face.

       Scott, throwing his hand over the passenger seat, wiggled his brows at them as he pulled out of the driveway. “It’s a surprise, my friend.” Navigating around Erica’s yellow Honda Fit, they zipped down the street. “Did you get Jackson’s gift?”

       “If by gift you mean, diarrhea bear, then yes.” He said and Scott burst out into a tear-filled laughter.

       “Oh god. So great.” He wheezed, wiping the drops from his eyes. “All him, bro. Ahh, so perfect.” Both he and Isaac stared at each other, the same question floating in their mouth. When did Jackson and Scott become BFFs? Isaac shrugged. He returned the gesture. After that, conversation drifted away from all things V-day. 

        They pulled into a parking lot he hadn’t seen since his first few weeks with Danny and Jackson. Only four cars filled the lot; their car made it five. Excited, Stiles flailed his giant self out of the small car door. He glanced up at the industrial building; the white siding looked grayer this time around. The sign, **Game-X,** flapped in the wind, seconds away from taking flight. That didn’t stop him from clambering up the clanking metal staircase. Isaac and Scott cackled behind him, but followed, nevertheless.

        He stepped inside the arcade and the same old smell greeted him, dirty carpet and Lysol. The dude who ran the place- Ed? - peered up from his Nintendo DS when the tiny bell signaled their arrival. “Oh hey. Been awhile.” He almost smiled at Stiles, “Where you been?” He nodded to Scott and Isaac in the back before they were off to get quarters.

        The fact that he remembered Stiles after all these months solidified the ‘epicness’ of today. “Got a job.” He admitted half-truthfully. “I’m still number one though, right?”

        “Nah man, these kids been coming around more, breaking all your records. You gotta step it up, dude.”

        “What?! Noooo-” He raced to the closest machine, an older version of _Space Invaders_ , and stuffed it with the few quarters he found in his wallet. He purposefully tanked so that the ‘ **GAME OVER’** blinked on the screen. It shifted to high scores and he gasped. The initials JDW topped the list, right above SSS. That rat bastard. Stiles yanked out his phone.

         Jackson answered on the second ring, “McCall told me you’re being a good boy. I’m proud of you.”

         Stiles ignored his playful tone, livid at the sight before his eyes. “I can’t believe you got your lacrosse minions to break my score. I mentored those little bitches. Gave them the Stilinski wisdom and this is how you repay me?” His voice cracked in rage, making Scott and Isaac peer around from the next aisle. Jackson, smug as ever, laughed in his ear. Stiles ground his teeth together. “Oh, it's so fucking on. I’m not leaving this place until these machines lose the ability to decipher any letter but mine.”

          “Good luck trying, kid.” Jackson goaded him. Stiles accepted that challenge, starting with _Space Invaders._ As a repeat of this morning, he hung up the phone. Damned if he let Jackson beat him, he corralled Scott and Isaac’s help and set to work.

* * *

 

      “You know, son. Most couples don’t engage in dueling battles on Valentine’s day.” His dad told him around the crunch of his salad. Stiles snapped up, so into his argument with Jackson he forgot his dad sat across from him.

      “I know-” He winked. “Only the fun ones.” Before his dad had the chance to take his phone away, he closed out Facebook and stuffed it in his pocket. Without the distraction, he focused on his own lunch, since their alteration to the strict schedule only allotted him forty-five minutes with his dad. (Beating Jackson at his own game felt worth the sacrifice.) Stiles spread out his salad and grilled chicken sandwich over the plastic bag. The material rustled with each stab of fork. He used the time to glance around his dad’s office. The last time he stopped by, school hadn’t started and he won the award for the loneliest teenager stuck in a new town. Since then, the desk resembled his old one, covered with case files, loose sticky notes, and old coffee mugs. Intrigued, Stiles reached for the closest one, only for his dad to pop him back.

      “Don’t even dare.” His dad snapped, glaring at his hand until it returned to the fork. “How’s the big day so far? The blonde one didn’t burn down the house, did she?”

       A knock sounded at the door before he answered. Stiles swiveled around, excited to finally meet one of the deputies. His father sighed, but signaled for the man to come in with two fingers. Christ, they made police officers calendar ready these days. Stiles wiped the gape off his face as the guy waltzed into his dad’s office with a charismatic smile. In his palm, he held a plastic container of frosted sugar cookies. Those friendly green eyes passed over him and Stiles almost forgave him for bringing processed sugar within a foot of his dad. Almost. 

      “Sorry to interrupt Sheriff, but we handled the ‘459’ on Abercorn rd. The Gardner twins lost the key to their grandma’s house again.”

      “Yeah, I figured. Thanks anyway, Parrish.” His dad said, eyeing the cookies. Parrish glanced down at the cookies and then nervously at Stiles. He leered at all three, daring his dad to try. After long, awkward seconds, Stiles grew tired of their triangle of nerves, guilt, and unrefined carbohydrates.

       “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles.” He said, extending his hand. Parrish flashed a bright smile, taking his hand into a gripping handshake.

       “Jordan.” He offered, only changing it to “Deputy Parrish” when his dad raised a unenthusiastic brow. “We hear a lot about you around here.”

       “Yeah?” Stiles smirked back at his dad, who grimaced down at his salad.

       “Oh yeah. Your SAT scores are posted on the fridge.”

       Stiles threw his head back in a laugh, loving the sound of his dad’s groan. “Hey, it’s perfectly fine to brag about my 2300, daddy-o. Wait til I get a perfect score.”

       “He’ll blow it up. Put it on a banner for all the delinquents to see.” Parrish joked back and Stiles decided he liked him. They shared a mutual goofy smile, to which the phone at Parrish’s desk interrupted. “Well, back to the daily grind, nice to meet you, Stiles. Here have a cookie.” He held out the plastic container. Stiles proudly accepted the only one with hardened red icing and white heart sprinkles.

        “Thanks, dude. Happy Valentine’s day.”

        “Yeah, you too.” Parrish grinned one more, then straightened his shoulders. “Sheriff,” With a respectful nod, he retreated from the office to race for the ringing phone. 

       “I like him.” Stiles admitted in the now silence of the office. His dad tossed him a look, one that somehow conveyed every negative emotion. “What? I’m just saying. Solid employment choice.”

        “Stick to the pretty boy, Stiles. The man’s nearly 30. Besides, you’re a little too…” his dad glanced over him, a slow smirk stretching over his face. “Manic for his taste.”

       “Wowww. Thanks for the unnecessary vote of confidence, dad. No third of a cookie for you.” Stiles yanked the thing back from his dad’s grabby palm with a snort. “Nope, you have to earn it now.” Like a trophy, he placed the sugar cookie to the far corner of the desk on a white napkin. His dad spent the rest of their time, showering him with not-so-subtle compliments in hopes of winning him over. By the time Danny knocked on the door, Stiles figured he’d more than earned his share. “Here. You wore me down.” Carefully, he handed his dad half of the cookie, giving the other half to Danny. “I’ll probably spend the night elsewhere like Danny’s or Derek’s or Scott’s.” He thought about the last one, “Yeah, probably not Scott’s.” No telling where his dad might end up with Ms. McCall tonight. Especially, since Scott planned to stay with Isaac at Derek’s place. Dammit, not Derek’s either. “You know what, I’ll let you know. Probably Danny’s.” He glanced to his friend and Danny smiled indifferently. They made their goodbyes, heading out the door. On his way past Parrish’s desk, the deputy grinned and said, “Later, Stiles,” because clearly they’re best friends now.

         “See ya, Parrish.” He beamed as Danny pushed him towards the door. Danny waited til the door shut firmly behind them before he shoved him playfully.

        “ _‘Later, Stiles’_ ” Danny mimicked, dipping his voice low with a flirtatious wink. “Who is that, anyway?” They both glanced back at the sealed door as if Parrish modeled in the doorway.

        Stiles laughed, “That is Deputy Parrish. He’s gonna run away with me if Jackson ditches me at the altar.” 

        “Did he say that?” Danny stopped briefly over at the driver’s side of his car.

        “All in the looks, baby," he winked. 

        Danny rolled his entire body at his fibbing. “Liar. Get in. We’re gonna be late for the movie.” In retaliation, Danny pulled off before he closed the door. 

* * *

 

        Danny missed all but one movie trailer because he insisted on snacks. It left Stiles judging the cinematography and success potential by himself. As the ‘turn off your cell phones’ reminder rolled on the screen, Danny collapsed into the chair on his right. Somehow, he managed to hold one small popcorn, one coke, a water, a box of Skittles, and a box of Cookie Dough Bites. Simply looking at that crap made his stomach churn. “Here.” Danny whispered, handing him the water bottle. “Oh and…” He tossed his cup into its rightful holder to free a hand. He pulled a Kit-Kat out of his back pocket, impervious to the assholes cursing at them from behind. Stiles snatched the chocolate up with glee; you never turn down a Kit-Kat bar. The opening scene for this stereotypical alien invasion movie droned on, but the chocolaty goodness melting in his mouth kept him entertained.

        “Ok. I admit. It wasn’t completely worthless.” He gave Danny when they followed the crowd out into the lobby.  

        “You’re kidding me right? They set up a potential sequel perfectly.” Danny argued back. Stiles waited for him to throw all of his trash away before they headed for outside. The sun blinded him with each step, making him wish for the shades over Danny’s eyes. “At least it’s better than _District 9._ ” Stiles gasped at that statement, stopping in the middle of traffic. Couples and families pouring out of the theater defamed his name as they detoured around them.  

         “Lies. That movie is gold and you know it. The baby aliens are too adorable. I want one.”

         “You want one?” Danny faced him. In his _‘I’m-better-than-you’_ tone, he obliterated his wish, “No, let’s think about this. A slimy nasty baby alien? That’ll grow into a giant, slimy, nasty alien and he’ll get his squirt all over you to turn _you_ into a giant, slimy, nasty alien. So, you can be together forever and ever. Not gonna lie.” Danny shook his head incredulously, blurring the effects of his dimpled smile. “I’d have to reconsider our friendship, Stiles.”

         “The fact that we can even have this discussion makes me so happy to call you my friend.” Stiles stretched out his arms to go for the kill, but Danny skittered away from him. He ran after him with his arms outstretched. Even when their fellow Beacon Hills neighbors side-eyed them, the chase continued. They dodged in and out of cars careful not to hit one or get hit themselves. Derek’s Toyota crawled up to them near the back of the parking lot.

          They halted, Stiles’s arms dropping to his side. Derek spoke not one word; instead, he admonished them with the weight of his glare. When he lifted one hand off the steering wheel, they gasped as if this moment sealed their unfortunate fate.

          Too done with their shit, Derek closed his eyes and released a calming exhale **,** “Stop being dramatic and get in the damn car.” He snapped down at the empty passenger’s seat. Stiles shuffled his way over, embracing his inner mischievous child.

          “I will get my hug.” He promised with a teeth-showing gleam as Derek whipped out of his makeshift parking spot. Instead of veering into traffic, he drove the entire lot to reach the exit less used. Derek took a turn for the back roads. In turn, Stiles rested his head against the seatbelt harness to recuperate his energy.

          Derek lurched into the parking lot, making his head slamagainst the seat. Stiles glared at him as he massaged his cranium.

          “Hurry up. She closes at 5,” he told Stiles with his mouth in a forced straight line. Stiles followed behind him, curious as to who would build a shop out here. Surrounded by nothing but forestry and dirt roads. Through the glass front door, he saw several elderly individuals perusing stacks, tables, and shelves of…books. His throat clogged up at the wondrous sight.

          “Beacon Hills has a used bookstore? How do I not know this?” He turned to Derek stony-eyed as his feet carried him to the door on autopilot.

       “She hides from the riffraff.” Derek responded but, his words released free of animosity. Stiles snorted quietly because they walked into the silent haven of this pure establishment. He’d never seen so many collectibles in his life. He couldn’t bring himself to touch them for the chocolate residue on his fingertips.

        He skittered around the store twice, detailing the pattern of her layout. Classics in the far right back corner. Fiction along the perimeter walls. Nonfiction in the front. Reference in the direct middle. Folklore and Mythology against the fiction near the front. Children in the far left corner. And, young adult on two sparse shelves near the front door. He flipped between mythology and fiction bookshelves, marveling at the different titles. One book, with its silver-red spine, called out to him. Stiles plucked it from the shelf carefully and slid down against the shelf, folding his feet under his thighs. The fragile cover of the First Ed. _Grimm’s Fairy Tales_ tattered in his palm. With caution, he turned to the first page. Derek kicked him with the heel of his boot when he reached page 53.

         “Hey. Time to go.” He muttered, cocking his head to the clock above the exit sign. Three minutes before five. Dammit, Stiles mourned the unconquered pages. “Bring it. Let’s go.” He tucked the book tight to his arm, praying that it didn’t cost more than twenty. At the counter, the elderly woman smiled at Derek warmly as she manually typed the price into the cash register. His eyes bulged at the five-o.

         “How does $25 sound?” She turned the book in her hand, “Man, I remember this old slugger. Read it to Brooks every night. What is it with you young men and gore?”

         “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Halberry. We’ll pay the fifty.” Derek offered, pulling out his wallet but she waved him away.

       “Please, it’s the least I can do.” She turned to Stiles and held out his paper bag. “This place wouldn’t be here without the Hale touch. Rest their beautiful souls.” For a moment, Stiles thought she’d might shed a tear; he glanced down at the bookmarks respectfully. “Anyway,” she sniffled, “you boys have a great Valentine’s Day (or evening, I suppose).”

          Derek chuckled, “You too Mrs. Halberry. Tell Mr. Halberry, I said hello.”

         “Thanks, Derek. He’ll be pleased to hear it.” With that, she attended to her last customer of the evening. He followed Derek out to the car. As Derek pulled out of the small lot, he knew when the situation required him to shut up. Instead of talking, he focused on remembering the store name in his tired state. When he committed it to memory, he moved on to processing the clues from their brief encounter with Mrs. Halberry.

         They pulled up to the east entrance of the Beacon Hills mall when Derek squashed his unbelievably wrong theories, “My dad invested in her store,” he admitted. Stiles didn’t know how to respond. His fingers fiddled with the flimsy paper bag. Derek interrupted his attempt with a throat clear. “Anyway, here,” He reached to the back, producing _another_ paper bag. “I put the receipt in the bag so you can return it, if you want.” He added as an after-effect.  

           He unveiled it, barking a laugh at the puke green cover with the floating mom jeans and everything. He and Derek tormented her constantly for being so into _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_. Of course, that didn’t get them out of taking her to see both movies. Twice. “I’ll read it from cover to cover. Twice,” he punctuated the last word.

          “You better. She’d hate you if you didn’t.” A nostalgic soft expression passed over Derek’s face before it evaporated. “You should go. The terror twins are glaring at us.” Stiles swiveled and sure enough, Lydia and Allison waited impatiently for him to get out the car. Well, Allison waved kindly, but he saw it in her eyes. Clutching his books to his chest, Stiles backed out of the car.

           Because he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the moment open-end, he leaned into the open window. “Thanks for this,” he said, holding up his gifts. “And, I expect you to find a copy. We’re suffering through this together.”

           Derek smirked, “Oh, I’ve already read them. You’re late but what's new?”

          He caught the blur of his wink as he shot forward, leaving him with Lydia and Allison. He gave himself a moment to breathe and spun around, a false smile covering the quivering one. “I need coffee if this is happening. Also, can we pick up my check?”

          “How are you still working there?” Lydia asked, tapping her feet against the pavement. Stiles preened. What can he say? They crave his work ethic. “Fine, we’ll stop but, don’t think you’re getting out of these god-awful clothes.” Surrounding him on both sides, they lead him into the mall by the arm. 

        Stiles thought he survived when Lydia handed her card to the cashier. Nope, they dragged him to the next store and flopped him down onto the boyfriend couch. He sighed, sneaking sips from his _Frappuccino_ as he bothered Jackson. Five minutes after seven, Boyd texted him with clear instructions to come outside. _His knight and shining armor,_ He perked up, snatching his bags off the floor. All the other male counterparts eyed him enviously.

         “Guys,” he shouted into the dressing room abyss. “Boyd said you’re cutting into his time so I’m dipping out. Later!”

         “Wear the outfit!” Lydia’s voice carried all the way to him with Allison’s not far behind her, “Yeah, it looks really good.”

       “Kay, bye.” He wobbled, so drowsy from lack of sleep that he agreed without hesitation. Boyd nodded to him when he hopped in the passenger seat of his family’s SUV. To avoid talking, Boyd swiveled the volume dial multiple rotations. Justin Timberlake’s _Cry Me a River_ became a barrier between them. He thought for a moment that Boyd attempted to communicate with him in his unusual way. Only, Boyd started bobbing his head to Justin’s croon. Stiles gave him the moment; he passed out against the window.

         He jolted awake when a hand smacked against his forehead. “Stiles.” Smack. “Stiles.” He ducked away on the third whack. The sadistic douchebag stretched his mouth into a wide, closed-mouth smirk. “Go nap. I’ll be back at 8:25pm. Be ready.” 

         “No. It’s ok. We can do-” He shook his head lethargically.

         “Stiles. Get out.” Boyd grabbed his stuff for him as he reached over to open the door himself. He manhandled him out of the car in under five seconds. Before Stiles' mind processed the situation, Boyd had already turned left off his street. His body and bags crashed on the couch, where Erica once laid, dreaming only of sleep. 

* * *

**Text Messages between Scott and Jackson**

**Scott (7:45): On to phase 2?**

_Jackson (7:47): yep_

**Scott (7:48): still don’t like you.**

_Jackson (7:51): Should I call the fire department or have you?_

**Scott (7:52): Shut up haha**

**Scott (7:53): oh god. im nervous n this isnt even my bfry**

_Jackson (7:55): eww did you just use bfry? goodbye._

_Jackson (8:06): thanks_

**Scott (8:07): you're welcome**

* * *

      “Change of plans. We’re going to Derek’s first.” Boyd told him when he pulled up. None of it mattered to him. This whole plan, while amazing and thoughtful, served as a filler until he skyped with Jackson. On the drive over, they chatted about school. Exactly at 8:29, he and Boyd pulled into Derek’s house.

       All the lights were off sans the front porch. The only sound, besides the crickets, was the soft hum of Derek's one street lamp. Stiles took a deep lunge towards the porch, discreetly stretching the fabric of his pants. Boyd scoffed but otherwise kept his comments to himself. Together, they knocked. Stiles banged the metal doorknocker while Boyd calmly rapped on the wood. Werewolves or not, the mild wind blew too rapidly for them to take their precious time.

       “Who is it?” Lydia’s lofty voice rang through the door, faking innocence. Stiles huffed as Boyd called out their names. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, sighing in relief when the door opened.

        “Thank god. It’s freezing out here and wet.” He praised her beautiful existence, but she blocked his entrance. After Boyd squeezed into the crack Lydia provided for him, she slammed the door in his face. “Lydia!” He pounded his fist against the polished wood, “Come on. I’m cold.”

        “What’s the password, Stiles?” She chimed on the other end.

        “Seriously? Are we in third freaking grade? Let me in.” He yelled **,** stopping himself from punting Derek's door. He preferred to sleep with all of his vital organs, tonight.

       “Nope. Password. Here’s a hint. It’s the answer to our riddle. Knock when you get it.” Her evil cackle assaultedl him as she disappeared. He glanced around the dripping trees and devastatingly dark driveway. Raindrops cascading from the roof aggravated his thinking process. Unless he gave her something, he’d have to camp out here, freezing his balls off.

         First, he took the first letters of the places in which they dragged him. Erica came to his home. He went to the arcade with Isaac and Scott. The sheriff’s station with his dad. Movie Theater with Danny. Bookstore with Derek. Mall with the gruesome twosome. Finally, he trudged back home again. That surmounted to… absolutely nothing, **H.A.S.M.B.M.H.** “GUYS! This is stupid!” He rocked back and forth on his heels. 

         “Come on, buddy. You can do this!” Scott cheered him on, giving him a much-need confidence boost. Needing to move around, he paced the length of the porch. This time, he actually tried, shooting for the out of ordinary. Did he do anything strange with Erica? Besides, watch actual cartoons on a Saturday morning. That thought lingered with him. Erica prided herself on being a _Sons of Anarchy_ kind of girl. _Justice League?_ He had a good feeling about that one. Moving on, somehow the word ‘arcade’ stuck out to him. Scott and Isaac thought the place smelled; at least they did when he tried to entice them into going last month. So, those two left him with,  **J.A.**

          “Seriously?” He shouted, jiggling the metal handle. “That’s cruel. Go ahead. Make fun of the lonely, seventh wheel on Valentine's day.”

          “What is it, Stiles?” Lydia questioned; her voice sounded closer to the door. 

          “You already know that I know it's Jackson.”

          Silence crept over their conversation. “Explain your logic.”

          “Lydia, this isn’t the SAT.” He sighed, blowing into his hands. When no one responded, he accepted the cruel and unusual punishment. “Justice League. Arcade…. Cookies. Kit Kat. Sisterhood. Outfit. Nap. It spells Jackson, geniuses.” The door swung open, as if they granted him the entrance to heaven. A very warm heaven. Stiles snatched his eyes from Derek’s generic welcome mat when he heard the voice only designed for his speakers. 

         “Damn, took you long enough, Stilinski.” Jackson smirked casually on the other side of the door frame. He leaned against it, fighting the smile that threatened to capture his poker face. Stiles's eyes blew up as Jackson tracked his gaze over his body, starting from his shoes to the leather to the tips of his bed head. Stiles blinked away the nighttime daydream. That what this had to be right? His eyes fluttered shut repeatedly, but when he opened them, the smarmy grin remained.

         Chuckles emanated from behind him. Together, they both glimpsed at the pack and heads ducked away. Of course, Erica shamelessly filmed the whole thing from the steps. She winked at him and Stiles sneered back.

         “You gonna stand there all night,” Jackson stole his attention again, “Cause my foods getting cold.”

         "Holy shit. You're not a hologram." Propelling forward, Stiles planned to go for the hug but then they’d disappoint their audience. He couldn’t have that. At the last second, he pounced, catching Jackson off guard. His legs star fished around Jackson’s waist, sending them crashing to the foyer carpet.

        “Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Jackson hissed as they went down. On the floor, Stiles wrapped his arms tighter around torso. He smacked wet kisses all over Jackson’s face. No stretch of skin could escape un-kissed. “Eww-stoppp!” Jackson groaned around his slightly disgusted laughter. He squirmed under him, trying to push his face away. Joke fell to him. Stiles puckered up with the palm of his hand, blowing raspberries into his skin. “Ok! Uncle. Uncle.” Jackson wheezed too out-of-breath for actual sentences.

         Stiles pulled back, grinning; he kept his hands framed around Jackson’s face. It took him awhile, but Jackson pushed up so that Stiles sat on his lap. He didn’t worry about the pack’s obvious interest in their tiny reunion until he felt Jackson’s boner scrape against the tight fabric of his jeans.

 _“Oh really?”_ He mouthed, wiggling his brows up and down. With his face blotching red, Jackson glanced up at the ceiling as if he consulted with the cosmic powers about their roles in this matter.

        “Come on. Up.” Jackson swatted for him to get up and this time he complied. Stiles stood and pulled Jackson with him. He purposefully walked in front of him until they fixed his untimely situation. The pack, with the exception of Derek, wore knowing grins as they all followed them into the living room. Derek perfected his chronic constipation mug in the corner. Stiles couldn’t tell if he directed his glare to Jackson, him, or them as a collective. 

        The pack turned back to their own conversations when everyone settled into their old spots. He plopped down next to Jackson’s spot on the couch, kicking his feet under him. Obviously, no one left food for him and Boyd so he jacked one of Jackson’s hot wings. Jackson scoffed, but he didn’t stop him from dipping it in his small pile of blue cheese.

         Around his third bite, he spoke, “This is crazy. How are you here? Why are you here? How long have you been here? When do you leave? How’d you get here? Did you get my package in the mail before you left?” Questions spilled from his mouth as they popped into his head. Jackson entertained his babbling for three seconds before he cracked.

        “Stiles. Shut up and let me answer.” The corners of Jackson’s mouth shifted up into a soft smile. He forgot the questions he demanded answers to because of Jackson’s stupid calming grin. For seconds, they beamed at each other despite the wing sauce clumping dry on his fingertips.

        “Oh god. It’s like a Hallmark Christmas special.” And, then the one voice to ruin it all. His head whipped up to find TJ on the other side of the room, chilling against a pillar. The ends of his hair curled wet around his collar. God, Skype didn’t do this kid justice. Stiles scowled at him simply for his looks. Did it have to be impossibly blond and wavy? And, his freaking symmetrical features. “Hey Stilinski.” TJ winked at him simply because he liked to ruin Stiles’s life.

        “What the hell is he doing here?” He spat, sitting up straight. He dropped his half-finished wing back onto Jackson’s plate.

        “Stiles. Don’t be rude.” Derek yelled at him from the kitchen. “Jackson’s friends are welcomed to stay here.” Stiles snorted at the pure bullshit. Derek had a conniption if someone even crossed the boundaries into his property. He glanced around the room and everyone, who actually gave a damn, shrugged indifferently. Scott avoided eye contact and Jackson grunted.

         “Wait. Friends? Is Ade here, too?” He asked, hopeful for some good news. Grinning, he shifted back and forth between Jackson and TJ’s general direction. Their shoulders stiffened; he took that as a definitive ‘no.’ His grimace returned. “Can we just go? I call shotgun in Lyds’ car.” Standing, he grabbed a napkin to wipe his hand and headed for the door.

         Scott caught up to him halfway to the car, “What happened to Switzerland?” He whispered to keep their conversation private. Stiles stared at Jackson and TJ among the group while they jogged down the steps. He and Scott watched them head for a clichéd black Mustang. Before he descended into the darkness, Jackson’s gaze flicked over to him.

         “Good question.” Stiles admitted while the engine revved. It peeled from the driveway. 

       

         At the bowling alley, Stiles kept to the back of the group. He walked with Scott on his right and Erica on the left. She still kneaded him for the scoop on TJ drama, but he ignored her, too busy watching Jackson chat amiably with TJ through the cracks of bobbing heads. Apparently, no one informed Danny of his visit either. From back here, he heard Danny exclaim as he waited for them at the doors with Ethan.

       “What are you doing here?!” Danny’s cracking voice carried to the back of the group. Stiles used their bro hug to slip past them. He trailed after Erica and Derek to the front booth while the others shuffled off to claim balls. The smell of disinfectant, cheap beer, and nacho cheese suffocated the air.

      “Hale party of 12.” Derek told the tired employee over the hollow sound of balls attacking pins. Stiles glanced around the place while the boy processed their lanes. All the kids sprinting between the concession stand and their parents' lanes. “You know you’re an idiot, right?” Derek asked him without looking away from the register.

      “What else is new?” Stiles said, squinting away the low yellow lighting.

     “Don’t come complaining to me when he leaves and you spent the whole time being pissy. Here.” He slammed down a pair of bowling shoes in Stiles’s size and dismissed him. Stiles grabbed them and headed for their two lanes, at the very end of the row. He scored the first of two seats in front of the ancient computer. Not a second later, TJ’s butt filled the last seat. _“_ Ugh. Don’t you have shoes to get or something?” Stiles jeered at him. His cool chuckle aggravated Stiles like an everlasting car alarm. He yanked on his shoes strings tighter to stop from doing something potentially stupid.

    “Like, I’m wearing those things. I bought my own.” TJ winked. _Of course, he did,_ Stiles thought, souring down at the black leather bowling shoes. “So, what gives, Stilinski? Last time I checked you didn’t actually hate me.”

      “Yea, before you went all, ‘bust the windows out ya car’ crazy.”

      A wince broke through his calm exterior. “Fair point but here’s the thing. That’s not really your business.” He chided, quite rudely. Stiles’s eyes narrowed into hard slits.  “And, you don’t want it to be your business. If you ask me, you should suck it up so I can destroy you in this game of people infested germs.”  

Stiles snarled at him, “We’ll see who’s doing the destroying. Set it up.” Slamming his hand on the counter, he jumped up. The pack took that as their cue to fill in the seats; they took bets on the outcome as he escaped to the bathroom.

      The door sealed behind him and he expelled the mask. His feet couldn't stop moving while he raked his hands through the already nest of hair. He couldn’t explain why TJ’s presence rattled him. True, he indirectly chose Ade's side in the big fallout. However, that didn’t mean TJ was necessarily a bad dude, a little elitist but not horrible. Maybe, his relationship with Jackson bothered him, comfortable and easy. Almost as if he was the Scott to Jackson’s Stiles. Oh god, or the Scott to Jackson’s Isaac. That would be an insane plot twist he didn’t see coming.

      Stiles squashed the last theory. When he got a handle on his trembling hands, the door opened. Jackson slid inside, forcibly closing it behind him. Before he could speak a syllable, Jackson backed him against the stall wall. His hands slid around his waist as he pressed his body slack against Stiles. Jackson kissed him without any of that chaste, closed-mouth bullshit. It’s the first real kiss they shared since Jackson came back and Stiles wondered why it took them so long. He arched into it, grappling at the sides of Jackson’s cotton shirt. He reached the highest level of ecstasy when one of their groans vibrated through his body. They battled for control. He’d push forward, biting down on his bottom lip and Jackson would retaliate. Jackson’s hands somehow curve under the waistline of his mega tight jeans. He shuddered, canting his hips. Unfortunately, that’s the moment reality slapped him. He pushed away with a gravely, “Fuck.”

       Jackson chuckled as he rested against his forehead. They breathed together, attempting to diffuse the moment and their matching erections. Anyone could walk in right now and catch them. Did that stop him from pressing one more kiss on Jackson’s bruising lips? Nope. He kept it simple, the barest of pressure to avoid another hurricane of teenage hormones.

       “And that’s how it’s done. properly.” Jackson teased him and Stiles pinched him on the arm. 

       “Shut up. I was showering you with love." Stiles preened, biting at Jackson’s cheek. He batted him away with a snort. "Where you staying tonight?" Stiles asked, pulling on the hem of Jackson's collar. 

       "Where are you?" he flipped back. Stiles shrugged now that Danny's wasn't an option. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure it out. I have to head out before the sun comes up anyway so..." He scowled at his own words. Yeah, Stiles didn't like the sound of that either.  

        "Wait, you drove here?"

       "From LA, yeah. His dad had connections with this car rental company." Jackson mentioned causally. Because everyone has a friend whose parents had connections, right?"

        Stiles scoffed, "Well, I'm hopping on the TJ bandwagon for now but he's sleeping elsewhere tonight." Jackson tilted his head towards the door, as if someone on the other side talked to him. "What'd he say?" He demanded to know when Jackson's shoulders quivered in laughter. 

        "He said, he'd rather sleep on a park bench than suffer through those gorilla noises again." 

       Stiles admitted the kid was entertaining. He laughed, despite the feeling of betrayal stabbing him in the gut. His face sobered when he caught Jackson staring at him. "What?" He ducked away from the unwavering attention.

       "Nothing." Jackson's hand hovered in the air near his face, unsure of its next move. "I...happy valentine's day." Finally making a decision, Jackson cradled his hand over his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut as Jackson caressed the tired skin under his eyes. Stiles turned into it, pressing a kiss against his palm. The door opened at that moment. Clearing their throats, they pretended to wash their hands as a father and his little son bustled inside. The man barely noticed them. His squirming pee-filled kid occupied 127% of their attention. Jackson checked his appearance in the cloudy mirror before dragging him outside. On both screens, their initials were prescribed on the bottom row, the last of six. They only made it to the third set, Lydia and Derek. Yet, as he and Jackson claimed the last two chairs, the pack tossed them kissy faces and suggestive eyebrow wiggling. He ignored them all. He planned to focus only on crushing Lord Smug face- and occasionally Jackson’s relaxing grin. What could he say? These things just turned him into a romantic. 

* * *

         He felt shitty doing it, using Stiles's exhaustion to his advantage. He did it anyway. Jackson reached over his sleeping frame to pluck Stiles's iPhone from his nightstand. Stiles huffed under the weight of his arm. When he snuggled deeper into him, Jackson paused to stare down at him. He didn't know whether to frown or grin. Being here, didn't feel real. Especially, after the past shitty months. He soaked him in. The soft expanse of his skin. The moles forming their own constellations. After a long moment, he forced himself to look away. A picture of them illuminated as his lock-screen. Jackson swiped over it and pinned in his passcode. The protruding 2D eyes of that ridiculous teddy bear he spent nearly 50 dollars on admonished him when he tapped open Stiles's messages. If Ade was feeding him information, he wanted to know. He started from the top.

* * *

 

**Text Messages between Stiles and Adrien**

 

**01/05/2014**

**Stiles: Yeah dude that's insane. Steer clear of the crazies**

_Adrien: bit late for that isn't it?_

 

**01/17/2014**

_Adrien: gah why can't people mind their own fuckin business_

**Stiles: lol who?**

_Adrien: thats not important_

**Stiles: Jackson?**

_Adrien: No._

**Stiles: Liar. thats not nice :(**

_Adrien: the worlds not nice_

 

**02/03/2014**

**Stiles: you kiss and make up yet?**

_Adrien: negative._

**Stiles: im disappointed in you.**

_Adrien: and im disappointed in your hairline lol_

**Stiles: old material haha**

 

**02/09/2014**

**Stiles: any vday plans with prince charming**

_Adrien: lol fuck you. im done with that shit_

**Stiles: stfu. you wanna b done**

**Stiles: but there's a reason u keep going back**

_Adrien: fuck off. gtg_

**Stiles: sureee. whatever you say**

 

**02/14/2014**

**Stiles (3:12 PM): happy vday vday. what'd the letter say?**

**Stiles (3:14): TELL ME! Did you get in?**

**Stiles (3:16): Fine ignore me.**

**...**

**Stiles (10:40 PM): I’m mad at you smh**

_Adrien (10:44): what did i do lol_

_Adrien (10:44): happy vday btw_

**Stiles (10:45): u didn’t suffer thru the manpain to come visit me :(**

_Adrien (10:57): visit u?_

_Adrien (10:58): they’re there?_

**Stiles (11:01): oh awkward. thought you knew. srry**

_Adrien (11:03): its chill. having fun?_

**Stiles (11:04): your boyfriend sucks at bowling**

_Adrien (11:05): stop callin him that. im serious stiles_

_Adrien (11:08): but he kicked ur ass, didn’t he?_

**Stiles (11:09): no. maybe. NEVER!**

_Adrien (11:10): im going back to sleep. later haha_

**Stiles (11:16): wait! you never told me what the letter said! ugh. g'nite.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's over!! Finally. Thank you for reading! I'm finishing this one in the coming week or so. Other plot bunnies are shouting my name but I can't neglect my darling. I'll post in a couple of days. Your comments and kudos help me so much. You don't even know so, thank you.


	21. March/ April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my awesome new beta, [FrostyKoala.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyKoala/pseuds/FrostyKoala)  
> Literally, the best ever for dealing with my ridiculous first draft. That said, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy. *smiles*

       Jackson placed first at State four hours ago. Kentucky crowned him the king of all swimmers and this was how he celebrated. Selling junk to hyperactive children inside a rectangular box made of their tears. His muscles stiffened as he propped himself up to watch their newest victim, a tiny red-haired Tasmanian devil who whimpered at her SpongeBob Popsicle on the ground. How much effort did it take to hold a Popsicle without dropping it? Clearly, too much.

        She blinked up at him, her eyes watering. No. He wasn’t going through this again. Jackson clenched his jaw, forcing resistance at the water gushing from her wide eyes.Five of these buggers conned him already, sobbing until he deducted an extra Popsicle from his paycheck. The more he battled her tears, the harder they squirted. Scowling, he glanced around the small arena for any lost adults hoping to claim a snotty child. No one paid attention to them.

        “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath, dropping down to snatch an extra out the freezer. “Here. Wait until you’re far away from here.” She beamed brighter than the North Star, showing off her three missing teeth. She could win every Academy Award.

      Behind him, Maria cackled into the pages of her Manga. “You're getting played, dude,” she said as he returned to cleaning out the pretzel machine. “Look at ‘em sitting together.” She flicked her hand towards the small arena. He squinted through the growing darkness but the girl waved her trophy of a Popsicle at his other thieves. They giggled over the sound of whinnies.

       He scrubbed the crumble-free machine harder. At least, he actually worked. Since his aunt assigned him to this station, Maria's done nothing but slack off. Back then, she took one look at him, tossed her colorful hair back, and snickered. He hadn't seen her pick up a thing since. “So, heard you won swim state." She hopped down from the counter to fix herself a plate of fries. “Congratulations. I knew you sucked a little less than the rest.” She grimaced at the thought of his family yet gladly ate their fries.

       “Your approval means the world to me,” he snarked back. “How about we not drip hair in the cheese?” He leaned over to swipe her indigo, blonde, and fuchsia tips away before it contaminated the entire bowl. He’d want nothing more than to report her. Luckily, the tattle-tell gene skipped his generation.

        She actually cracked a smile. “Please, my DNA would perfect this lukewarm concoction.”

      “I’m sure it would,” he joked with her drily. They straightened when a mother of five headed for the stand. Looking over at her, Jackson smiled slyly and straightened. Politely, he greeted them, “She'll be right with you." The woman caved under his customer-friendly beam.

       He stepped away from the window to make room for a properly uniformed Maria. Her lips curled into an impressed scowl; it was the last thing he saw before stepping out back for fresh air. He inhaled in the fresh non-greasy air around him, sat on the top step and rested his head against the closed door. The silence lasted ten seconds; then his phone buzzed.

       “Hey,” he murmured. Stiles frazzled slurring of words killed his relaxed buzz. He shot up, trying to decipher the muddled sentences. He pinpointed every other word. Ade. Drunk. Labor. Holy shit. “Stiles. Stiles! Stiles,” he barked repeatedly until Stiles heard him over the sound of his own freak up. “I have no idea what you’re saying. Start again. And slower.”

        Stiles huffed, but started again after he took two strong inhales. “Some random girl called me because Ade didn’t have your number. Where have you been?! He’s drunk in her bathroom and your cousin in law- I think that’s right- she just went into labor. There was a lot of freaking out and high-pitched voices.”

        Jackson let him ramble his worry away. He doubted Ade was in trouble; him and his friends lived to party. “He’ll be fine. It’s Ade. You know he parties all the time and he’s with Drew.”

       “Are we talking about the same people? Drew’s a self-absorbed dick and Ade never gets drunk. Something’s up, Jacks,” his tone pleaded with him. Jackson dropped his head back against the door. His body barely wanted to make chilidogs. It definitely didn’t want to go speeding across town to a party he wasn’t invited too. Especially, for a so-called cousin who deleted his freaking number. “He’d do the same for you.” Jackson doubted it at this point.

      “Fine. I’ll call you when we get to the hospital. He’s ok. Stop worrying,” he groaned. Stiles thanked him incessantly as he jogged around to the front window. The hung up when he slapped on the counter. Maria glared at him on the other end. “Cover for me and I’ll give you two days’ pay,” he shouted over the neighs in the background.

        “Three.” She flipped back.

        He grimaced, “Two. Don’t get pushy.”

       “Fine. Shake on it?” She stretched her hand out the window. He scrutinized it for cheese residue; until he deemed it clean enough. After a firm shake, he sprinted for the truck. He used one hand to steer and the other to scroll for TJ’s number. When he answered, Jackson didn’t bother with hellos. “Where are you?” he said.

         “At home, chilling. What’s up?”

        “You got some of Ade’s clothes? I don’t have time to stop.” TJ paused, as if Jackson asked him a trick question. “It’s a yes or no.” He sighed behind the line of traffic for the main exit.

         “Yes. Why?” Worry seeped through his normal tone. He filled him in while he drove. A minute later, TJ agreed to meet him at Drew’s house.

        The more he thought about Stiles’s words, the faster he drove. He pushed 85mph on the back road to Drew’s house. His brain whirled with how they could possibly make him decent enough to go to a hospital. The nurses would take one look at his sorry self and admit him for alcohol poison. He prayed Ade wasn’t dumb enough to take anything. Turning off Drew’s tiny street, five minutes later, he felt a wave of nostalgia roll over him. He hadn’t been down this road since his first weekend here. God, how that seemed so far away from now. Jackson passed the field where Ade took him and hit a sharp right. The winding road led him straight to the farmhouse. He heard the party before he saw it. The screaming. The music. The sloshing of warm beer in Solo cups. Cars trampled over his parents’ grass **,** so Jackson felt no remorse adding to the chaos.

       Adrenaline flowed through his veins as he yanked the keys from his ignition and sprinted up the front walk. Everyone who laid eyes on him blanched, confused at why he would show his face around here. A group of them, chilling on the porch, tried to block him from entering. Drew at the head of the group. Standing tall, he puffed out his chest as if Jackson didn’t catch him swinging on a porch swing. “Private party, Sleeping Beauty. Go home.” He sneered, spraying his face with spittle.

        Any other night, Jackson would laugh at how hard this kid tried for top dog. Jackson grimaced; his eyes cold yet, naturally blue. “I’m not here to cause trouble, idiot. I came for Ade.”

       “Ade?” He laughed, throwing his pea-shaped head back. “Get it through your gelled scull, Ellen. He doesn’t want you here.” He advanced on him and the other three guys behind him stood up too.

       Instead of punching him, he cackled. Every one of them tilted their tiny brains to grasps the situation. “You’re an idiot and I don’t have time for this **.** ” Shaking his head, Jackson brushed past him, straight into the dingy foyer. “Next time I see you, you better fucking know my name.” He couldn’t help but shout back when a dance floor of people separated them. His head cut through the clouds of smoke as he forced his way up the stairs, dodging in an out of people. The dude on the phone said third door to the left. He stepped over outstretched legs until he found the door, glittered with Snowboarding decals.

         He rapped on the door three times, as Stiles told him to. Scrambling arose on the other end, “Jackson?” The girl asked behind the door.

        “Yeah. It’s me.” The door opened, revealing Z’s attitude-bearing girlfriend, if he could even call her that. She exhaled at the sight of him, an actual non-scowl covering her worry lines. He never thought he’d see the day where she’d actually non-scowl at him. She opened the door wide enough for him to slip through. “What are you doing here? Z with you? Why is there a chair against that door?” He pointed to desk chair propped underneath the handle.

        “No. Drew’s my brother.” She snapped, crossing her hands tight to her chest. “I was passing by and saw him freaking out about driving to the hospital but he was drunk so I shoved him in Drew’s bathroom and barricaded the door.”

        “Oh,” he paused for a second. “Smart. Too bad about the Drew part.”

       “It could be worse. I could be related to him,” she pointed to the closed bathroom door. Right now, he didn’t agree or disagree. Shoving aside the desk chair, he wrapped his hand around the knob. A knock rattled her door and he paused. At the sound, Z’s girlfriend froze in place; she glared between the door and the metal pipe next to her dresser. He eyed it and her both, in case she took a dive for it. What horrors could a person witness for them to keep a pipe ready? He didn’t want to find out. Metal pipe beats werewolf any day. Literally.

        Another thump reverberated from the door, “I can hear you. Open the damn door.”

      “You brought TJ Daniels to my house!?” She hissed, “Drew’s gonna flip shit. He can’t come in here.” They argued back and forth, impervious to the passed out body in the bathroom and the werewolf demanding to enter.

       Their bickering masked the creak of a window opening. Then, a soft thump vibrated the carpet. Together, they whipped around to find TJ land inside the room with a tuck and roll. TJ’s tightened shoulders expelled nothing but anxiety and fear.

      “Damn, why don’t you two talk him death?” He grunted, dusting the nonexistent dust mites off his jeans. Z’s girlfriend gawked at her _second floor_ window. “It’s called climbing a tree,” he jeered with a cool smile before blending her in with the furniture. They gladly tossed him the reigns. They watched him stalk towards the door, his shoulders deflating only at the steady pulse thumping under Ade’s skin.

        “Oh disgusting.” She clogged her nose off from the putrid smell of alcohol-infused vomit. Jackson couldn’t judge; he’d seen and done worse. Ade rested his forehead on the toilet seat. Liquid regret soaked the front of his burgundy v-shirt and jeans. Looking at him was suffering through at a photo album of himself a year ago.

         TJ inspected him, all up close and personal with his soiled body. Jackson thought he performed his test with too much ease, pressing his fingers against the slimy skin over his jawbone. If he was honest with himself, he’d hesitate multiple times before touching Stiles’ alcohol vomit. Oh, he’d do it… eventually but not without gagging himself. “The idiot didn’t pass out.” He huffed but Jackson heard the relief clear in his voice. “Hey. Hey.” TJ smacked his cheek lightly until Ade’s eyes drifted open.

     He blinked up at the three of them, struggling to form words. “T…no one invited you. But, J can stay. He’s so cool. State. State. State.” He chanted in a low slurring of syllables. Jackson smirked. Apparently, intoxicated Adrien still wanted him around.

       “Yeah yeah. Come on,” TJ hauled him off the tile. Ade actually let him manhandle him into a standing position. His head flopped around on his shoulders. Even if they didn’t ask him to, he gave them a few moments of privacy.

       Guiding her out into the hallway, Jackson reached back for his wallet. “Here,” he pulled out all his cash, three twenties. “For the mess...” He told her blankly, making sure she understood the unspoken, ‘and your silence.’

       They pushed back downstairs as his phone vibrated again. Without a confirmed cover story, he ignored it. As they hobbled past the porch, Drew said not a word to them. He clenched in anger, but trembled in petrified silence. Jackson snarled anyway, debating whether he’d get away with leaving his body in a ditch. He took the award for shittiest best friend. If America practiced Ostracism like the Greeks, he’d banish that fuckwad first. His phone rang again. This time his uncle’s name highlighted over the screen.

       Tightening his hold around Ade, TJ leaned over to read the name. “Tell him you fell asleep after you left work and now you’re on the way. I got this. Three hours tops and he’ll be as annoying as ever.” Something in his tone told Jackson they’d done this before. Looking once more at his babbling cousin, he headed for his car **,** even when his basic instincts told him not to do so.

…

       Why did child bearing take soooo long? In Hollywood, the entire process lasted maybe ten minutes. According to the wall clock, he had rested in this lumpy hospital chair for…6 hours. He spent two watching Netflix with Z on his laptop and one and a half catching up with Jessie. (He forgot she existed until she flicked him in the temple.) The last two, Stiles and Scott kept him company. Then, he lost them to the Xbox.

       The rest of the time, he watched the clock. It led him to this moment, surrounded by his family of obnoxious snorers as he resisted the urge to check up on Ade. Jackson forced his eyes open. He’d stay awake, in case they needed him. His knee tittered against the scuffed tile. With each passing hour, the motion slowed; until, finally, it stopped.

        “ _Jackson. Yo. I know you hear me.”_  A voice hissed at him, fuzzy underneath the hospital soundtrack. He shot up in his chair to crane his neck around the waiting room. Besides the child reading a Captain Underpants book in the corner, everyone else gave into his or her sleeping desires. He forced his eyes to blink away the haziness. Maybe, he missed Leal, standing just outside the double doors leading to the patient rooms or something. Nothing, only fraternizing nurses and sleep-induced citizens. Not knowing the time, he decided to join the masses, again. Resting his head on his palm, he closed his eyes again. Not a second later, the voice struck again.

        “ _Seriously, J. Get out here. I’m hungry.”_

        The voice drifted through the halls; he followed it, letting it lead his gaze right the automatic doors leading outside. A part of him felt too lethargic to move. Sighing, he did it anyway after relocating Z’s head from his shoulder to the back of the chair. Outside, the sunlight forced him to shield his hands over his eyes. Blinking away the glare, he spotted Ade’s rattling truck in the fire lane. Jackson scoffed, but he finally relaxed the loose worry in his stomach.

       “Are you trying for a ticket?” He grumbled at the passenger window. Ade let his loud cackle mutilate his lopsided enthusiasm **.** As TJ promised, he looked substantially cleaner than the last time he saw him, especially vomit-free. Frowning, Jackson crossed his arm over yesterday’s shirt and arched one disapproving eyebrow. “You ever heard of this thing called a cell phone? Where the hell have you been?” 

          “You ever heard of that saying. Dammit, what is it again?” Adrien stroked his chin for added effect. “Oh right, ‘Secrets, Secrets are no fun. Unless they’re shared with everyone.’ Yeah, that’s right, Mr. Mythological Creature.” All the blood from his face drained into his feet, stopping them from moving. Until now, he hadn’t thought about the significance of how Ade beckoned him. Laughing, Ade leaned over to open his door. “Don’t worry. I’m passed the angry, freaked out stage. I won't blab to anybody, either. But, ya could have said, ‘Oh, Cuz, I was saving your life that night. Wouldn’t want your… to boil you in a Caldron of stew.’” He paused at finally describing his relationship. Jackson chuckled, relaxing around their chill comradery.

           “You do realize that’s witches, right?” he chuckled.

        Ade’s eyes widened as he clutched the wheel tighter. He gasped, “They’re real too?”

         Jackson scoffed, not dignifying that with an answer. He hopped up when they heard an incoming siren in the distance. Ade took off before his door could fully close. Enclosed inside the car, their awkwardness returned. He shifted towards the window, cataloging the passing license plates, the barely open businesses, and bits of litter on the ground. Ade’s drumming filled the cab until they pulled into the Waffle House. Silence followed them inside and over to a booth attached to the cook’s station. In their own separate worlds, they fiddled with the menus until their Server, Leanna, headed over to them.

        “Morning boys, what are we starting with?” She said, setting out two straws for them.

          “Uhh…” Jackson flipped the menu over in his hand. They both focused on him but, when words didn’t spill from his mouth, Adrien ordered. One request for coffee, water, a waffle, country hash browns, regular side of bacon, and a bowl of cheese grits later, Jackson finally decided what to order, since his cousin gave him ample time. She shifted her tiny notepad at him, smirking. “Yeah, can I...have two scrambled eggs, hold the yolk, toast, and a glass of milk?”

          “That’s all?” Her concerned gaze drifted over his lean muscles but Jackson nodded, anyway. “Alright then, I’ll get this put in for you.” They thanked her as she slid away to the next table. More silence settled over the table; they both fidgeted with their straw wrappers. He spent so long glaring at Adrien’s face that now it became his default state. It took much force to smooth it away, replacing it with an expected grin, instead.

         When it grew too silent for either of them, Adrien cleared his voice, “So, aren’t…” He lowered his voice, “werewolves supposed to eat a shit ton of food? You eat like a sick baby.”

         Jackson smirked as he fiddled with his straw. “Where are you getting this information from?”

         “About what? Your sad diet or the big reveal?” 

          He thought about it. “Both.”

      “This morning, overheard him talking about it with his dad. Then, I ducked out. Fact checked with Stiles on the way over,” Ade replied, nonchalant. All that Jackson heard from that statement, ‘I called Stiles and not you.’ It stung the slightest bit. His expression conveyed the unspoken inquiry because Ade answered him. “I figured he’d text you or something. Tell you I was on the way.”

        “Why?”

        “I don’t know. That’s how it is. I talk to Stiles. You two do your thing. Unless it bothers you…then I can stop.” Ade paused, his face souring at the idea. Any other day before yesterday, he wouldn’t mind that. Last night changed his mind. Thinking over the party in his sunken hospital chair, he admitted that Ade needed every real friend that he could find. If he included Stiles in that category, then he’d reluctantly honor their friendship. Even if it pissed him off half of the time. Jackson swallowed a sip of his milk before answering.

     “Nah. I’m used to it by now. But, if we’re doing this,” he admitted, swallowing a clump of milk mucus. “I’m sorry about New Year’s. I should have stayed out of it.”

       “You shitting me? It was my fault. I got all jealous like a fucking idiot,” Ade scowled at his amused yet unconvinced lower. He snorted when Jackson amped up the expression. “I’m serious, man. I got all mad, you know. You hated my friends and our parties. Then, TJ started being a cunt by chilling with you. Anyway, I’m sorry. I was being a bitch and that’s not cool. I shouldn’t have told Stiles all that stuff, either. Like I said, extra bitchy.” Jackson saw the determination in his wavering frown. He nodded once, accepting his apology. He felt as if somehow, they squashed their problems. Their server lowered plates down on the table. Well, a plate in front of him and multiple plates in front of Ade. Minutes of forks scraping china passed between them.

         “So, I wanted to talk to you ‘bout something,” Ade said, after three-fourths of his waffle trailed down to his stomach. “I…applied to some California schools. Didn’t think I’d get in but apparently, they’re hurting for talent these days.” Before Jackson could tease him, Ade beat him to it. “Shocking. I know,” he chucked, holding out his hands. “Anyway, I guess I wanted to- like- check with you first. Make sure you’re all good with it.” He twiddled with his spoon to avoid looking directly at him.

           Jackson rolled his eyes fondly at his nervousness. “Don’t be an idiot. What schools?” he questioned.

           Ade tried to answer in a low murmur, but his ears picked them up anyway. “Pepperdine, Berkley, and Pomona. It’s not a big deal.”

         Jackson choked on a tomato slice. “Not a big deal? Hot Damn. Congratulations man.” His eyes still blinked in a state of shock. He expected public schools, places where you majored in skipping class and booze. “I mean-no wonder you’re friends with Stiles. You’ve been a closeted nerd this entire time. Nerd.” He scoffed playfully and Ade snorted at him while running a hand over his embarrassed grin. “So, do you know which one you’re choosing? Stiles know yet?”

         “Nah. Not yet. He started sending me, ‘just because they think you suck, doesn’t mean you actually suck’ quotes.” Ade swiped over his phone to bring up their messages. “This morning, Dr. Seuss said,” he cleared his throat. _“Today you are you. That is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You._ ” They laughed when Ade’s phone chirped in his palm. His phone followed right behind it, buzzing in his pockets. It could only mean one thing. They scrambled for their stuff. After personally handing their server twenty dollars, extra for tip, they raced back to the hospital. 

          It took them six minutes to push into the private room packed with their two families. With the tiniest addition to their family, Gia Marks, swaddled in his wobbling arms, he grumbled only once as his aunt snapped a picture. She started wailing, then, in his arms. Jackson immediately passed her off, but he smiled down at the picture on his phone. Attaching it into a text, he shot it off to the pack. At the last second, his fingers keyed his parents’ email too.

* * *

 April

 

        Stiles tried for professional as he stepped into State Capitol. He snuck glimpses of the golden dome. The waxy smooth yellow and black checkered floor. He gawked at the architectural beauty as the guard handed him his ID. _Holy crap,_ he beamed at the plastic card. He had an actual government ID for however long they’d remain in this building. “Keep making that face and you won’t last the day,” the guard mocked him. Stiles took it as parting wisdom. He straightened his face, wiping away every drop of amusement. At Stiles’s near scowl, the guard shook his head, “There you go. Politician ready.” It took everything in him not to salute the man. In fact, he had to bury his hands into the deep pockets of his trousers.

           He rode the elevator to the third floor with actual Politicians. Standing in the back corner, no one paid attention to him. He could take a selfie right now and they wouldn’t know. Of course, he didn’t, but he could. They engaged in policy small talk as the box ascended up, up, up. By the time the elevator opened for him, he’d identified all four of them, using the directory. Three State Assembly members, one assistant, and one state Senator, a cute one at that. His interest in politics skyrocketed.

          “Mr. Stilinski **,** ” Mr. Whittemore declared, “Keep in mind what we discussed. In here, you will grant me your respect. I will do the courtesy of granting you the same. Interns work until five-” The ring of his phone interrupted their conversation. Holding up his finger, he took the call. Stiles used the opportunity to observe his office. The entire room destroyed at least five trees to construct; everything was Mahogany, down to his cubed pencil cup. He thought the Romanticism art was a nice touch. It added that extra, ‘I’m cultured and you’re dirtier than swine.’

          He had to give the man props, evil with style. “I’ll have my assistant email it over right now. Great. Tell the family hello for me.” Mr. Whittemore barked a faux laugh at the person’s response. Stiles mentally rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone. “Right, where were-oh, five o’clock. You’ll spend half the day assisting around the office and after lunch, you’ll shadow Shelley. Learn how I like things done. Today, we’ll begin packing up my office.” He explained Stiles’s task for the day, sorting the books into alphabetized boxes.

           “Huh.” Stiles observed him, perplexed. “Nothing. I just expected you to be the cruelest boss ever.”

           “No one is two dimensional, Stiles,” he replied in a serious tone. “Now, get to work.”

          His phone vibrated in his messenger bag, freezing him to that of a glacier. Mr. Whittemore slowly lowered his glasses to glance between him and his bag. Catching the hint, Stiles shoved the book onto the shelf before scrambling over. Protocol stated that when your ‘not-so-evil’ boss glared at your phone, you immediately turn it off. Stiles amended protocol so that it read, ‘have a peek at the screen, smile, and then turn it off.’

          Unfortunately, Mr. Whittemore caught him when that peek turned into a gander. “Oh by all means,” he jibbed sardonically, twirling his reading glasses in the air. “Put it away. You know the rules.” Stiles ignored Ade’s message to avoid having his phone confiscated. He apologized, though it pained him to do so, and hopped back to work. Overall, he didn’t mind working for Mr. Whittemore. Stiles thought of his work as interesting, in an ‘I-defend-bad-guys’ kind of way. Besides, who wouldn’t want a sick library in their office? He picked up the next set of books and alphabetized those, as well. Stiles found himself engrossed in all his literature. Before he knew it, a throat cleared behind him. He swiveled around, holding the last stack of books in his hand. Mr. Whittemore barely glanced up from his computer.

        “Go ahead and break for lunch.” He granted him freedom. Stiles didn’t waste a second of his forty-five minutes. It took him exactly two minutes to step out into the Sacramento sunlight. Was it sunnier here than in Beacon Hills? He didn’t doubt it. Crossing the street with all the other food-seeking government workers, he followed the crowd. They led him right to his target. Colorful indie bistros lined the streets. Sometimes, he wished his nose could choose for him; lead him straight to the yummiest smelling establishment. Sadly, coffee beans blocked his very human nose from picking apart any other scent. The smell wafted from a small café- and he meant small. _Café Ambrosia_ had to overflow their normal amount of tables outside. All but two of them were empty.

         Always one for the underdog, Stiles sauntered in with a hopeful sigh. The man took his order, a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Some swift minutes later, he dropped down into an outside table with his food, on actual breakable plates. Yeah, he could definitely live the rich person lifestyle. The first bite of tomato soaked bread- oh god the first bite. Stiles groaned around all four of these innocent bystanders. His eyes fluttered shut to chase the flavor. He knew which café he’d eat for the next three weeks.

        He forced himself to call his dad, per the man’s orders. Various moans interrupted their conversation; he couldn’t help it. After a while, his dad chuckled, “I see this conversation’s headed nowhere. Finish your food, son. Call me before you head back." 

        He complied with a mixture of, “sure thing, dad” and an honestly embarrassing moan. Stiles lifted his head from his shoulder so that the metal slid into his lap. They wouldn’t judge him for getting another meal to-go. Stiles blinked wistfully at his plate of scattered crumbs. He decided not to pour his hard-earned money back into this city. To distract him, he brought in reinforcements. He waited for Jackson to answer as he brought in his plates.

         It took forever for him to pick up these days. Stiles blamed the freaking reunion, not that he wasn’t happy for them or anything. He got halfway around the block, fearing voicemail, when the crackle of a yell attacked his hearing. “Hey. Stiles! Goddamn woods. Hellooo! Can you hear me?!?” His voice drifted in and out as if he paced through cell reception. Stiles guided him back to that one spot where his voice shot through unmutilated. “Some genius decided it’d be cool to go hunting.”

       “Eww hunting? You're killing animals and roasting carcasses?” Stiles turned up his nose. He was all down for a double cheeseburger with bacon. However, like many Americans, he liked to keep his meat and the thought of actual animals separated. Now, images of furry bunnies and weeping deer damaged his brain. “Wait, is it even hunting season?” He questioned aloud.

            “Nope. They’re going to jail and I’m not stepping a toe in those damn woods. How’s the first day of Hell?”

            “Fucking awesome,” he exclaimed, walking into the candy store near City Capitol. “How can you not want to be an asshole lawyer? The perks are so BA.”

             Jackson huffed a breathy laugh, “You want to be a suit now?”

             “Heck yea. Making mad money and defending good guys? Sign me up.” He ran his hand over boxes of White truffles.

             “You’ll defend whoever gives you that _mad_ money.”

             “True.” Stiles tilted his head to the mirrored ceiling as if his reflection held the world’s solutions. “I’ll get my partners to handle the evil ones.” 

            “Great strategy plan.” Jackson mocked him; the dramatic eye roll translated perfectly through his speakers.

           “I know, right?” He ignored his pessimistic attitude. “It’ll be perfect. You can be my hot stay-at-home husband moonlighting as a badass stock broker,” he said in a smile, cackling at the miserable-pouty faced Jackson in his head.

         Jackson scoffed at his plan. “False. I’m the Fortune 500 CEO that hires the nanny.” Jackson playing along to the thought of them forming wrinkles together about made his day. Stiles smiled blindly, letting it stretch from one jaw to the other.

           “There will be no such thing in my house. We keep it in the family,” he faked an estranged gasp. 

         “Or we can die miserably trying,” he grunted. “I know what you’re doing. Tell me about work." This wasn’t the first time he tried to avoid discussing Mr. Whittemore. Then, Jackson would know he was going soft on the guy. Almost to the point of reluctant admiration. He gave him the same watered down version he issued his father.

         “All I did was box up dusty books. I’m shadowing Plastic Shelley after lunch. See how things are done.” Stiles used Jackson’s nickname to relieve the aggravation in his words.

           “Thank god, he’s dropping her. I heard the new assistant’s pretty hot, though.”

        “Oh, I’ve seen him. He could model in his spare time,” he joked, brushing his cheekiness away. You’d think that after all these months he’d learn to accept one compliment. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject to Leal’s offspring. “She bite off your finger yet?”

          “She’s a month old baby. Not a Chihuahua.”

         “They’re both tiny and make too much noise. Basically the same thing. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I know we talked about me coming out there for your birthday but I can’t. I have to go home with my dad to empty out our storage unit. It’s not all shitty. He said that if we clean it fast, I can chill with some of my old friends.” He tried to slip the news into the conversation and failed, if the silence told him anything. The silence unnerved him; they’ve been planning this trip for weeks. He felt the need to make it better. “I mean, I got outta school for the week. Maybe, I can convince him to take a-”

         “A week? How’d you get out that long?” Jackson asked, covering up his disappointment. Fortunately, for Stiles, he’d spent many months categorizing his “emotionless” tones into their proper feelings bracket.

          “I don’t know. I guess it pays to have your boyfriend’s parents in high places. Your mom talked to the principal for me. I told her not to,” he admitted and he really did. She’d insisted when they bumped into one another at the grocery store. 

         “Oh… Yeah, ok. Whatever,” he sounded so dejected that Stiles almost gave up on his plans. “They’re headed back but I’ll call you later maybe.” He hung up before Stiles opened his mouth to form syllables. He huffed down at his phone, forcing himself not to exaggerate. His entire mood soured; the desire to peruse downtown Sacramento left him. Twenty minutes early, he headed back to the office. Mr. Whittemore waved him in, a salad and an Evian water open on his desk. Since he couldn’t work during his break, Stiles watched the clock. His finger scratched against the armchair leather. He already prepared himself for Jackson’s reaction, knew it wasn’t going to be favorable. His phone vibrated and for a moment, he thought it was Jackson. Nope, Stiles tapped open Ade’s notification. ‘ **Take it you convinced him cuz he’s being bitchy,** ’the message read.

_Yeh he fell for it and my old buds said they’d play along too_

**Gr8. Bring a suit for the wedding. Ur sitting with T’s fam**

_Did you ask him to be your plus one?!?!_

**Ur my plus one, dummy. How do u think u got a seat? Hope u like fish**

_lol yeah I do…metaphorical plus one then? I’ll be the best wingman._

         They texted more after that. Mostly, Ade convincing him not to be his wingman. (Stiles was so being his wingman.) Their argument helped keep his mind off Jacks. When he peeked at the clock again, it read two minutes before time. Stiles glanced around. Two minutes wasn’t a big deal and Mr. Whittemore already left for his afternoon meeting. He set to work, finishing the last of the shelves before Shelley stole him away. He’d finally get Jackson back for his Valentine’s surprise. That is, if he didn’t cave from Jack’s passive-aggressive snubbing first.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So closeee! I can feel it! Thank you for reading and encouraging me to see this to the end. (Secret: This is a huge milestone for me. The first long piece I'll finish. So, your encouragement means a lot.)


	22. May- Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months, months, and more months, the reunion has come. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to everyone who stuck with me during my writer's block. I don't deserve your amazingness! Seriously. Thank you so much!
> 
> Also, this particular chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. I will gladly fix all of them!

~Three Days Later: Friday~

         "Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. The time is now 12:38pm and we have landed, here, at the Bluegrass Airport, in Lexington, Kentucky. We ask that you remain seated until our flight comes to a complete stop. If you wish to do so, you may now use any cellular devices. On behalf of our team and Delta airlines, I thank you for flying with us and have a great day!”        

        _Finally._ They’d arrived. Stiles stretched in his seat, raising his arms high enough to scrape the buttons above his head. His seatmates, two other unaccompanied minors, ducked around him for a glimpse out the window. Together, they all marveled at the blur of orange vests and machinery as chimes and vibrates filled the cabin. He ignored his own vibrations in favor of waiting out his turn for the exit. 

        Eventually, he was whisking up the muggy tunnel—his duffel smacking the backs of his thighs with every step. Professionals and families bustled around the airport, but he conquered the crowd, ducking around bodies to reach the bay of escalators. The second his foot touched the scraped steps, he slumped against the railing. Of course, his phone chose that moment to destroy the taboo silence. “Hey, sweet thang,” he blurted loud enough to mask the ‘Welcome to the Bluegrass Airport’ greeting over the sound system. “Sooooo…how’s my cutie patootie?” 

         Jackson scoffed, "Cutie patootie? That's what you're going with?" 

        “Naw, I’m just exploring my options before I settle. What’s up?” He didn't ask about the aggravation distorting Jackson's tone. If anything, he’d learned not to point out his bad moods. Enough snaps and barks taught him that lesson. Thankfully, they were in a sharing mood today.

        “How do you mix up goddamn wedding dates? They’re driving me up a wall, Stiles.”

         “I can tell,” he hummed. _Bye bye, super awesome surprise plan._ Stiles clutched tighter to the railing. “I thought the wedding was next weekend.”

         “Yeah, it was. Then, bitches started showing up at the house randomly. Apparently, they printed the wrong damn date on the invitations. I hate ‘em all. Hate ‘em. When I get back, we’re not leaving my room for days.” Stiles listened to him inhale slowly. “Two more weeks,” he muttered on the exhale.

        “Hmm, I like the sound of that. Well—minus the part where I’ll still be in school, but you know what, who cares? Fuck the system. Two more weeks, babe. You got this.” He managed to get a tiny laugh out of him and Stiles let himself relax. Desperate to change the subject, he stupidly said, “So, I landed.”

        “Yeah, I know. I can hear the flight numbers in the background.”

        “What?!” he halted, stopping the flow of traffic. Jackson couldn’t possibly know about the plan. They worked their asses off to maintain the secret. He sputtered for words, even as people pushed around him.

         Jackson beat him to it. “Go. Be with your friends. I gotta help the flower girl, anyway. Ade decided to 'eff off and leave us with his crap.” The conversation didn’t last long after that. They said their goodbyes briskly and hung up. Stiles frowned, almost feeling bad for stealing his cousin. Then, the plan slipped back into his brain and he shimmied towards Baggage Claim.

          In this crowd, he didn’t know how he was going to find Ade. Those waiting pushed at each other to get a better look of the escalators. He circumvented the crowd looking for Ade’s ruggish self, probably in the most clichéd outfit ever and he almost missed him, standing next to the professional drivers. Wearing tattered jeans, a threadbare white shirt, and a grimy hat, Ade smirked at him with his completely unprofessional **_Stilinski_** sign. At least, he got the spelling right.

          Stiles bumbled over to him, laughing and shaking his head. Ade worked triple time to retain his “business façade” until Stiles pushed him towards the exit. In person, Jackson’s cousin came to his shoulders--maybe. Despite their height difference, Ade still managed to snag his neck in a gripping headlock. It took him awhile, but he broke free of the tussle. “God, you’re a shrimp in person,” Stiles joked, holding him at shoulder distance.

          “Small but mighty, fuckface,” Ade whipped back, shoving him into a trashcan that he nearly missed. They grinned at each other. “Come on. I gotta get back before they kill me. Trade?” He tossed Stiles a misshapen burger and Stiles dropped his duffel to catch it.

         The heat doubled once the sliding doors opened for them. The sun made him squint at the chaos of cars and taxis. Burger in mouth, he fought with his over shirt, stripping it away and dangling it from his back pocket. The lost layer didn’t protect him against Ade’s burning leather seats. Stiles hissed, reaching down for a random water bottle on the floor. His mouth puckered at the non-water qualities of the bottle. Vodka. Sour warm vodka. Ade was too busy with traffic to catch him stash the bottle deep under his seat. “What’s the plan now?” he said around the last of his cough.

          “Do you wanna help with wedding stuff?” He didn’t even have to say no. “Didn’t think so. Can’t take you home, yet. In laws from hell,” he paused for a second to think. “Drew’s?”

          Stiles tossed him a dry grimace. “You mean the same homophobic idiot who by some miracle hasn’t shanked my boyfriend in the hallways? Yeah, awesome idea.”

          “It’s not like Jay’s an angel, but fine. If you don’t wanna go there, there’s only one other place.”

 _TJ’s._ He could hear the answer unspoken between them. Even still, he’d rather suffer through teatime, classical music, and expensive chandeliers than experience the stories he’d heard of the infamous Drew.

          Stiles sighed, “Fine.”

          They swung into the right lane and Stiles clung to his seat-belt on fear that they would perish before they made it. Forty minutes and six random conversation changes later, they reached a gold-spiked iron gate. _Bright Diamond Farms,_ the circular plaque read. He kept his comments to himself while Ade keyed in the gate’s code by memory. Seconds later, they were breezing under a canopy of trees, fields of pristine grass stood just behind them.

           “You see that fence?” Ade nodded to a thin line of white in the distance. “That’s our place. I’m sure you’ll get the grand tour later.” After that, they barely spoke. With every inch closer to TJ’s house, Ade’s grip on the wheel tightened. Stiles briefly wondered if they were at least back to being civil. Then, all the twists and turns opened to a circular driveway, one that stole all thoughts. _Man,_ he blinked up at the brick estate, seeing the allure of being wealthy like never before. “Don’t be fooled. His family’s a mess,” Ade murmured, stopping underneath the decorative archway. 

            Not even a second later, two little girls sprinted from the front door, wearing nothing but skin and paint. Stiles couldn’t whip his head fast enough to watch them go. They skipped around the car, singing “Adrien and TJ sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!!” in high-pitched screams. Another girl, maybe middle school, chased after them in her uniform jumper dress.

 _“Sisters??”_ he blurted, mind blown. TJ always screamed only child syndrome; he could always sense one of his own. Apparently, not.

          Ade barely acknowledged them or their taunting; he patted around for his phone. “These three? Cousins, but there are more. A lot more.” --

         He marveled as a woman stopped just outside the front door. Her golden gray hair waved around her face, which Stiles found weird, considering the lack of wind. Whistling loud in the air, she halted the commotion around them. Stiles could feel her power brimming, seeping into the cracks of the doors. Immediately, all three girls skittered back inside, heads hung low. Instinctively, Stiles reached for his seat belt, but Ade grabbed his shoulder.

         “He’s not here,” he told him, at the same time, the woman knocked on the window. He absolutely did not jump in his seat. (He did.) Stiles struggled to roll down the window manually. As if she found him amusing, her calculated glower slid into a kind, if not controlled smile.

          “Hi,” he squeaked, elbowing Ade when his friend chuckled at his awkwardness. “Hi. Hello.”

          She ginned politely, toggling between him and Ade. “You must be Stiles. I’m Ivana, Tanner’s mom,” she offered her hand and Stiles jumped to shake it, making her laugh politely. “You two just missed him. He’s lending a hand at the church.” Though she addressed them both, her eyes trained on Ade.

           “Yeah, I just got the text,” Ade gestured to his phone. “Would you mind if Stiles camped out here until the ceremony? We’re doing the whole surprise thing.”

           They all peered at the house, noting the not three--but five curious heads poking from the door. Stiles jabbed Ade in the side, pleading not to be left here. He'd gladly help out at the church and ruin whatever was left of the plan. Ade grimaced, jabbing him back. They fought until she swiveled around; then, they were all smiles. 

          “I don’t see why not. You can help me finish lunch.”

          His stomach grumbled in that moment, “Food? Later, bud.” It took him less than a minute to snatch up his laptop and garment bag. Mrs. Daniel’s airy chuckle filled him with a strange sensation of nostalgia. If they caught his flicker of pain, they didn’t mention it. Ade left him with the flick of a wave; then, they watched him round the corner.

          “It’ll be over before you know it. Come-let’s get you something to eat,” Mrs. Daniels ushered him into the house, stepping over the giggling children that congregated by the door. Surprisingly, she kept her questions simple, wanting mostly to know about school, extracurricular activities, and future college plans. (Stiles suspected that particular topic was just another chance for her to brag about TJ choosing Vanderbilt.)

             Nonetheless, he swiveled in the kitchen stool, focusing more on his burrito than the other adults in the room. The kids ran in and out, as they pleased, until everyone dispersed at three to get ready. 

          Stiles changed quickly in their guest bathroom and finally, they were packing into two Grand Caravans. _Two._ They rolled up to the church thirty minutes before five to find TJ waiting for them, resting against a Greek column in an all-white suit. Stiles scoffed, “Didn’t anyone teach him _not_ to wear white to a wedding?”

           Mrs. Daniels chuckled, “Unfortunately, every event is his event. This is your stop. We’ll see you inside.”

           Stiles thanked them kindly as the vans slip away. After a quick fist bump, TJ led him through a maze of doors and narrow hallways. Neither of them spoke to avoid the unnecessary attention. They remained unseen as they sat on the right hand side, next to his family, who took up at least two rows. Stiles glanced at him with a knowing smirk, but TJ purposefully ignored him.

          After that, he kept checking the time, his nerves rising with each passing minute. He couldn't explain the pounding in his heart;they just saw each other in February. And, he shouldn't be nervous. Stiles lifted his arm, as to secretly air out his pits before they started sweating. Maybe, a part of him still waited for Jackson to realize he could do leagues better than him. His leg jittered against the pew in front of them until TJ kicked him in the shin.

         “You keep it up, he’ll know before they even open the damn,” TJ squawked when his mom reached over three bodies to smack him around the head. “—dang doors. Stop it and the sweating too.” He tried focusing on the decorations, instead: ivory and coral floral arrangements by every pew. By the time, his gaze traveled around the room, the pianist struck a chord. Following the masses, he stood for the procession.

         The flower girl showered the aisle with petals first, followed by a chubby little ring bearer. Stiles snickered at his adorable waddle. Z was the first groomsmen, linking arms with an equally nervous girl. They moved robotically down the aisle—one foot-one arm, one foot-one arm. Stiles snickered at their terrified smiles. They met eyes once they finally reached the altar. He winked when Z’s eyes blew wide at the sight of him. After a long second, he nodded to the back, making Stiles turn around. 

           When he did, his stomach punched him in the pancreas. His organs were failing. Of course, it was no Burberry, but damn, it would do. Looking at him now, Stiles couldn’t see his irritation from earlier. Jackson grinned charismatically at Leal’s guests as he led some girl down the aisle. Objectively, she was naturally beautiful, but next to him, she faded to gray. He fiddled with his forty-dollar suit, suddenly feeling under-dressed. The other half of him wanted to hijack Jackson mid-aisle and keep him behind locked doors and at least four covers.

           TJ elbowed him. “You’re stinking up the church,” he muttered as Stiles elbowed him right back. They both shifted around to watch Ade enter the aisle, his sister leading him down the aisle.

           When he started coughing, Stiles chuckled, “Who’s stinking up the church now?”

            "Shut up. You can't even smell it."

            "I can-" his little brother grunted randomly, pinching his nose. Stiles chuckled; he decided that he liked this kid; they could do much damage together. In that brief moment, he'd forgotten about the plan. He turned back to find Jackson staring dead at him, expression blank. Stiles froze, only recovering because the elderly woman on his other side accidentally dropped her purse at his foot.

           "Surprise?" he mouthed, biting the corner of his lip, but also trying for his most convincing smile. He couldn’t look away, but it burned to wait for some kind of reaction. All too soon, the pianist shifted into another ballad, one that signaled the arrival of the bride. He had no choice, but to follow the crowd and rotate away from Jackson. As Tiffany waltzed down the aisle, her sleeping infant against her chest, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced around before sliding it from his pocket.

_NYC huh? Lies!!!!_

**R u seriously texting me from the altar?**

_No one’s looking_

**God is looking**

_Shut up lol._

_Fuck you! I was mad you canceled_

**I know.**

**And only if you ask nicely.**

**You look...**

_Speechless? That's new._

**Amazing. Hot. Damn Sexy. Handsome.**

             _Stop it!_

             **Beautiful.**

           Stiles snuck a glance, catching him half-grinning, half-blushing down at their conversation.

            _You too, dork._

           Soon, bodies began to shift to the front, preventing him from responding. He watched Jackson slides his phone into his pocket before straightening up like the rest of the groomsmen. When she finally reached the front, Tiffany walked passed her assigned spot, much to the confusion of the room. Then, she stopped right in front of Jackson, carefully transferring her daughter to his open arms.

          Stiles jaw dropped. He suddenly wished he could take a video for the pack. No one—absolutely no one—would believe Jackson’s blush as he cradled soft curls in his hand. The little girl made not one cry, peep, or gaggle in his arms. She laid her crumpled fist on his lapel and shuffled into sleep. Stiles, like most of Leal’s guest, just about melted in a puddle of coo. Seriously, a low “aww” floated around the room, followed by a collective chuckle. The entire time Jackson never left his eyes, but Stiles was too busy ingraining that image into his head.

         He gaped when the pastor held out her palms, bible at her side, when she scanned the pews, reciting the words, "Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Marks.”

         He gawked even as their guests cheered, both families deciding to squash their prejudice in favor of everlasting love. Through it all, his gaze didn’t stray. Neither did Jackson’s.

          Stiles wanted to remember that image a decade from now, even if the person holding his babies wasn’t the guy in front of him. 

* * *

          “Three-Two-One. Say ‘Marriage,’” the photographer yelled from across the road. For the twelfth time, Jackson plastered on a fake smile. 

           The man was a lovestruck idiot, taking up their time with his bossy bull-crap. The word ‘marriage’ didn’t even twist your mouth in a smile; it contorted your lips in a ‘bitch-get-out-my-face’ grimace. Finally, though, the man released them and Jackson relaxed because he survived the torment—all the hours of preparation, the running around town, the constant bickering, hormonal eating, and frantic yelling. All of it was finally over.

          He pushed through the wide church doors, grappling with his bowtie. The other members of the wedding party mingled, as if they hadn’t gotten enough of each other. Not him. He wanted to find Stiles, eat some of that expensive cake, and enjoy his last few hours of bliss before babysitting duty suck up on him again.

          “Ey, yo. Wait up!” Ade shuffled after him and he slowed down long enough for them to walk together. “Glad that nightmare’s over, right?” he knocked their shoulders together, grinning wide. Jackson shook his head, but offered him an almost smile. “For someone with a damn good night ahead of them, you’re awfully broody.”

           “I call it determination,” he joked since they were still working at repairing their friendship. Ade snorted. He felt compelled to fill the silence; two months since their rift and they were still figuring it out. Burying his in his pockets, he tried again. “-Thanks for, you know, helping him or whatever,” he cringed at his awkwardness.

          Ade smoothed right over it, “No sweat. You just remember this shit come next weekend.”

          “What’s happening next weekend?” he asked, voice raising over the chatter. He continued to pester him when he wouldn’t answer the question. By the time they reached the reception hall, his voice had rose to a near shout.

           “Have fun tonight!” he shouted, backing up in the direction of the coatroom. After a second, he added, “Don’t fuck in my bathroom!!” Jackson couldn’t help but to laugh, even as guests that were lingering in the great entrance gaped at him, scandalized. 

           “It’s my bathroom, too!” He barely gave their judgmental whispers a second glance when he strutted past, in search of Stiles. A few guests stopped him for courteous small talk, mostly adults he’d grown to know in his short stay. They asked about school, future college plans—his entire memoir. After the fourth person, he was polite in his rudeness, excusing himself after a minute. When he circumvented the entire room and didn’t find Stiles, he headed for Stiles’s dinner table.

           “Jackson!” Mrs. Daniels exclaimed as he lowered himself in Stiles’s seat. “Beautiful ceremony,” she said and Mr. Daniel’s nodded in response, already breaking into his salad. Jackson didn’t blame him; you gotta eat when you gotta eat. “And, the June bug. Gosh, she's so precious. How old is she?”

           “Almost three months. Have you seen Stiles, by any chance?” he asked, doing one more sweep around the room.

           Mr. Daniels chimed in, “They went to the restrooms, son. Maybe three, four minutes ago.”

           Any sane person would wait for them to come back, maybe continue with the small talk. _Fuck that-_ the next person he wanted to talk to was Stiles. He pushed away from the table with a polite nod and headed for the restrooms. 

            Thankfully, there wasn’t a line outside the door, no one to watch him make a fool of himself. He tapped a beat with his foot to keep him busy. Every time the door opened, he pushed off the wall, only to give some poor man or boy a heart attack. After the fifth time, he stopped looking altogether, until some nipped at his ear. 

           “Waiting for someone?” Stiles whispered and all it took was one move to swirl them around, so that Stiles’s back hit the wall. “Someone’s happy to see me,” he snickered, but Jackson wasted no time, kissing him while he still had the chance.

           Stiles kissed him back instantly, grappling at the smooth fabric of his button down. All Jackson could do was sigh. He brought a hand up to shield their faces, as if that would help them blend into the furniture. They pulled away at the same time, wearing matching grins. Stiles brushed a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth and Jackson might have stopped, if he hadn't done that. Of course, the door decided to creak right as he leaned back in. 

           “Seriously. You can’t find a door to do that behind?” TJ scoffed, exiting the restroom with his ever-present smirk. Jackson sighed, but he pushed away, but not without pulling Stiles with him. “Ade come with you?”

            Now, it was his turn to scoff. He cocked his head towards the hallway, “Yeah. Headed towards the coat closest. Go bother him and leave us alone.”

            TJ cackled and flipped them off, “Make good choices. Later Stiles,” he backed away and disappeared down a random hallway. 

            “You two seem closer than ever.” Jackson pulled him towards the reception hall before someone without a sense of humor caught them.

           Stiles swirled around, intertwining their fingers. “Oh yeah. We traded handsies in the bathroom and everything. True besties. So where are you taking me after this?”

            He laughed, his sour mood evaporating by the second. With Stiles by his side, he could ignore all the double-takes people tossed them. Folks he'd seen around town gawked at their hands and a few months ago, that definitely would have bothered him. Now, it only made him squeeze tighter. “To the most exclusive party you’ll ever go to.”

           “Shut up. Seriously?”

           “Yep. You, me, and Gigi.” 

           It took Stiles a few seconds to understand. A warm, goofy smile stretched over his face as enlightening hit him. “You got stuck babysitting, didn’t you? It’s ok; you have, like, nine days to parade me around town.” Inside, his uncle gathered everyone for blessing the food. He lingered in the back, until he _had_ to take his seat at the font table. “Go,” Stiles pinched his butt, pushing him forward as they entered the room. “Talk later.” Quickly, he smacked a kiss onto his cheek and jogged off to the front. 

* * *

           Adrien hated weddings. Of course- when you were from a family like his, that wasn't a surprise. He hated the frantic build up to the anticlimactic "big" day and the unspoken requirement for a Plus one. He hated in-laws, no matter how nice, kind, or snobbishly rude they were. But, above all, he hated receptions and having to schmooze people who couldn’t tell him apart from his sixteen-year-old brother.

         Seriously—if he had one dollar for every time somebody called him Ezra, he could pay for this entire wedding, twice. 

          At least, they made it to the 'tipsy dancing' portion of the evening. For the next hour, all he had to do was sit here, eat cake, and text his friends. Every so often, he'd watch the dance floor for entertainment: Z stumbling over some girl’s feet, blushing wildly as he apologized, Stiles instilling some moves into Jay’s two left feet. Now that, he found hilarious. Jackson sneered at him over Stiles’s shoulder when he caught him laughing. Ade thought Jackson should just be glad their family didn’t banish him to the single’s table, too. So far, his mom introduced him to three girls, each one more dismal than the last. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go home with them. He’d go home with practically anybody, if they asked nicely.

          A heavy thump hit the seat next to him. _Almost anyone._ Ade scooted his chair down as TJ ran his pointer finger through Ade's icing. “We’re dancing,” he insisted, sucking on his finger.

          Ade snatched his plate away with a pointed glower. “No, we’re not.” Somehow, he'd managed to avoid TJ all day, even when that chuckle and god-awful white suit pulled at his attention. TJ scooted his chair closer, eliminating the space between him. His Ralph Lauren cologne suffocated Ade, in an I-hate-that-I-want-to-tear-your-clothes-off way. He scooted his chair away, even more, knowing that if he went any farther, his elbow would land in his brother's forgotten cake.

          “I’m doing you a favor, A,” his sugary, sweet breath ghosted over Ade’s jaw. “It’s either me or your new cousin-in-law over there.” He followed the nod to Table seven, where a girl, maybe fourteen, grinned shyly at him. “Isn’t she so adorbs? Not too bad of a wait, either. Like four, maybe five years. I think you should-”

          “Shut up. Not everything’s gotta be a fucking joke,” he barked, aware of the surrounding eyes. Already, he heard several of their voices in his head, taunting him for wanting to laugh, or at least crack a smile. He forced himself to meet his gaze, “Just…go. I’ll stop by later.” 

           “No. Adrien, dance with me.” His voice pulled at Ade's gut, low and demanding. Huffing, he snatched his hand from the table and stormed to the farthest corner of the dance floor. He shuffled nervously by the speaker as TJ placed a hand on his hip. He sighed, pushing into it, despite the voice screaming for him to retreat. Stiles gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up between two swaying heads and he grinned at his crooked smile. His smile diminished when he passed over his mom’s confused frown. As he pulled away, he saw the plea in his unguarded expression, especially since his default settings were _cocky bastard_ and _smarmy asshole._ Ade ducked through the crowd, avoiding both his mom and the happy couple as he headed for the door. He snuck a bottle under his tuxedo on his way out.

           Outside, candles lined a picturesque path down to a manmade pier, illuminating the still water, several levels below. He avoided the plank cracks, reveling in how the chill air caressed his cheek. It soothed his growing frustration. Ade dangled his feet over the edge. Clumps of dirt plopped into the water, creating tiny ripples. He peered down at the water, as dark as the bottle in his hand. He thought of drinking it. It’d take zero effort to pop the cork, raise it over his mouth, and allow the froth to relax his thoughts. The second his hand closed in on the top, he heard footsteps behind him. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he said into the silence.

            TJ scrutinized the tarnished wood and slowly lowered down. Ade saw him wince as his pants collided with the pier. They sat close enough for their body heats to intermingle. He waited for the lecture soon to come, but it never did. Instead, he said, “So, one of dad’s horses is in the Derby tomorrow and my family brought tickets. Plus, there’s free food. Well, it’s not free. We paid for those overpriced pinwheel sandwiches, but still.”

           Ade glanced at him, waiting for the importance of that entire statement. TJ avoided eye contact, suddenly finding the lack of dirt in his nails entertaining. “Wait, you asking me on a date?” he cackled, thinking it was all a joke to lighten his mood. Only, it wasn’t. His laughed trailed off when TJ tensed. “You know I don’t do that shit, T,” he kept his voice soft, almost apologetic.  He saw the storm brewing in slow-motion, consuming his easy nature a second at a time. 

           “No-you just fuck anything that’s willing,” TJ spat back at him. 

           “What’s that say about you, then?”

           “That I’m stupid as shit, apparently.” Ade halted at the curse word; they always sounded so foreign coming from his usually refined mouth. He popped up and Ade watched him pace the length of the dock, breathing heavily. “God, why’re you so difficult?! I know you like me and half of the school already thinks we’re boning, your bumpkin ass friends included. I just don’t get why you won’t-” he fell silent, pace tripling until he’s a near blur.

         Before, when Ade witnessed one of his spirals, he chalked it up to anger-management problems and argued back. (It takes one to know one and- all that jazz.) Since he discovered their secret, he freezes, giving T the time to blow through it on his own. Of course, he knew that he'd would never actually hurt him, but he was still new to…all of that. There was a huff and three heavy steps, then a piece of paper, dropped by his side. “First post starts at 10:30. Come; don’t come. See if I fucking care,” he sneered before stalking away.

         Ade stared at the shimmering ticket, long after he stormed away. The moonlight glistened over his name, printed right under the ticket cost. Several times, it almost blew away in the subtle wind, but he snatched it back.

        That single slip of paper cost $600 bucks—like, hell he was letting it discover the colors of the wind. As he worked open the bottle, he stashed the ticket in his pocket.

         “Cake?”

         He squinted over to find Jackson joining him on the pier. He held out one of two plates, both weighed heavy by slices covered in frosting. He tried for a smile as he accepted it, but he wasn’t fooling either of them, so he forked through a hunk of icing. They sat in silence, eating delicious cake. Unlike the walk over, something of relaxing comfort settled between them. Somehow, it made the crushing weight on his chest slightly more manageable. 

* * *

         “Humph,” Stiles grunted, tripping over the tiny step into Leal’s house. He muffled his laughter for the sake of the sleeping baby. Because the house lacked even a night light, Jackson led him through the house. With his expertise, he navigated around couches, chairs, baby walkers, and discarded boots—any obstacle from the front door to the kitchen.

         “You can chill here. I’ll be right back,” Jackson whispered in the darkness as he disappeared down a narrow hallway. Stiles settled at the kitchen table, which glowed silver from the crescent moon seeping through their sheer curtains. He tapped his foot to the song in his head as he waited. He grinned, surprisingly content. The rest of the wedding must have tired him out, dancing with people he’d just met and eating more cake than his body could consume. Jackson disappeared sometime after TJ and Ade did and magically reappeared at the last song.

         After peer pressuring him into one last slow dance, Stiles waited at the back while he prepared for babysitting duties. Although he decided to stick with Jacks, a few of the younger in-laws invited him back to their hotel room. They deemed him an honorary member of their family, a prestigious award considering he barely remembered Tiffany’s name until he saw the wedding program.

         He perked up at the footsteps headed his way. “She’s down. No telling how long, though.” Jackson tiptoed over to him. He’d unbutton his shirt so that you could see the beginnings of his chest fuzz. Stiles tilted his head back, resting it against the chair as he stepped closer. Silence rang in his ear, even while crickets sang outside and the fridge hummed in the corner.

         He chuckled, “Jackson Whittemore: Glorified Babysitter.” He painted the words in the air with his palm while Jackson spread himself over his lap. Instinctively, he trapped his hips, sliding his thumbs against the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. “We should get you some business cards.”

         “Or we could not and say we didn’t,” he muttered, guiding his hands under the shirt. Stiles had no qualms about that. He stretched up, brushing his nose against the underside of Jackson’s cheek before pressing a kiss over one of his freckles. “You have fun tonight?” Jackson asked him with his fingers scratching over the hair at the base of his neck. Any other time he was all for the gift of conversation, but now, he wanted only to peel away this tux.

          He started off slow, to savor what’s been missing in all the lost time. Jackson sunk down against him, breathing a moan into his mouth. It made him almost feel guilty about doing this in Leal’s house with his princess in the next room, but Jackson syphoned away his hesitation with every measured grind. Stiles could feel the beat of his heart, hammering against his. It matched Stiles’s in its irregularity, thumping uncontrollably.

          Then, the slow and unrushed shifted into something too fast for him to describe. He grappled with the buttons on Jackson’s shirt, which brought him back to that hotel from in San Francisco. His laugh got lost in the shuffle as he finally freed the last button, wrestling the shirt away from his body. He pulled back for full look at him and groaned before biting over his collarbone. “God, I hate you,” he murmured, hands running over his pecs. “You’re too beautiful.” 

         “Shut up.” Jackson pushed his face away, blushing. Stiles loved his smile, made him want to write extremely embarrassing haikus. A surged of confidence hit him and he stood up, taking Jackson with him. “Working out, I see?” he teased as he wrapped his legs tight around his waist. Stiles waggled his brows smugly and walked them through the guest bedroom they passed on their way inside.

         “Maybe, you’re just loosing muscle tone,” he cracked back, dropping them on the high mattress. It took them some time to find their groove, again, limbs jabbing in painful places. They kept quiet for the fear of wakening Gia. Well, Jackson kept quiet.

         Afterwards, he blinked at the ceiling, ignoring his sweat-slicked skin. His breath weighed heavy on his lungs, leaving him panting for air. Not for the first time, he was thankful they weren’t one of those immediate cuddlers. He needed his space to breathe. Jackson, too, breathing heavy a few inches away. After a silent moment, they both shifted on their sides to face each other. Stiles grinned at his blissed-out smirk.

         “I should go away more often,” Jackson murmured, making him snort, at the same time his stomach growled. “Hungry much?”

         “I’m sorry,” he clutched his belly. “It's not like I didn’t just burn 100 calories.” 

         Jackson sat up, as if that statement changed his perspective on life. He watched the whirl of the ceiling fan as Jackson collected his thoughts. Randomly, he said, “I thought it was 300.”

        “Nah, that’s a myth,” Stiles said as scratched the trail of hair on his stomach.

        Jackson paused, “-hmm. We could totally make that."

        He chuckled lowly, “Oh definitely," he leaned over, smacking a kiss on his forehead. He started to flop away again, but Jackson tugged him down, until their lips tangled together, the kiss too innocent to rouse him from out of laziness. When they were too tired for anything more than sharing hot air, Stiles rested his head on Jackson's pecks, his arm wrapping around Jackson's back to pull him closer. They laid there, Stiles caressing the smooth, slick skin over his sternum and Jackson running fingers through his hair.

          Sometime later, Jackson whispered, "How long are you here?" 

         "Til next Sunday. Don't even ask how I convinced my dad to let me stay this long."

         Jackson flicked his cheek, "Now, I wanna know. Tell me."

         "No! Never!" He pinched his nipple, eliciting a tight hiss from him, but before Jackson could retaliate, a cry crackled through the baby monitor on the night table. He pulled back with an exaggerated sigh.

         “I gotta check on Gigi,” Jackson muttered against his hair. Stiles swore he meant to move, so Jackson could do his babysitting business, but comfort and pillow pecks tempted him. He groaned, protesting for two whole seconds before Jackson forced him to roll.

          Stiles lifted on his elbows to catch the show; he whistled shamelessly as Jackson searched for the semblance of pants on the darkened carpet. He bent down several times, not that it bothered Stiles any. When he finally found a pair of pants, Stiles's pants, Jackson threw a rancid sock at his face. 

         "Asshat!" he shouted after him, though he can't help laughing at Jackson's faint chuckle. "Buy me pizza and I'll forgive you!" 

         “Order it yourself, lazy bum! 923 Cambridge Way. And get chicken-pineapple.”

         Stiles groaned, reluctantly patting around for his phone. He prayed he didn’t leave it in his pants. Thankfully, he found it on the floor, near the foot of the bed. As he ordered pizza from Pizza Vista, the only place that would deliver to their location, Stiles couldn’t help but imagine himself doing this every day of his life. If that didn’t shoot terrifying trembles through his body, the lack of bacon on the Pizza Vista menu definitely did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Second part coming at you on Saturday. I already have it written and queued up!! Yay to accomplishment! May you have a crazy fantastic week, free of homework, jobs, and silly obligations.


	23. May-Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: There is a section of homophobic dialogue! It's in the party section, encased in asterisks if you'd liked to skip it.
> 
> EDITED: 5-12-2015  
> *I assaulted your eyes with sloppy errors to which have now been fixed. Seriously, I cannot wait to do a full line edit of this story. Chapter by Chapter. In the meantime, thanks for sticking it out if you read this chapter before the above date.*
> 
> [Images not mine]

       Five minutes from first post, TJ leaned against a pillar and observed the final stragglers as they rushed to the gate. Women, clutching their colossal hats, sashayed so their dresses fluttered in the wind. Their male counterparts swaggered after them, blurs of vibrant pinks, blues, and greens. He envied them, which wasn't something he typically did. In fact, if anyone asked, he couldn't explain why he decided to wait out here past the first buzzer.  _Bzzzz._ His phone vibrated in his linen pockets, but he silenced it. Probably just another picture of some C-list celebrity his cousins spotted. Suppressing his growing irritation, he kicked the lamppost, scuffing the tops of his new brown leathers. 

 _Fucking Ade,_ he thought, pacing in front of a bronze lion. He released a deep exhale when last night's events hurdled through his mind. _Yeah,_  he probably shouldn't have pushed that hard, but he was so  _sick_ of the "hookup game." It wasn't as if he craved a relationship like Jackson and Stiles's--so sweet, people around them suffered bellyaches. He only wanted...well, he didn't really know. Maybe, a friend to go with the fucks. He wanted to be forced to watch Ade's stupid western classics or to not fight in public for the sake of appearances. He didn't want to be another number in a long list of conquests, boys and girls alike. 

       "I can't decide if you look hot or pathetic. Maybe, both. Yeah-definitely both." 

       TJ whipped around at his voice, catching Ade's charismatic smile as if he wasn't forty minutes late. Relief and anger battled inside of him, one threatened to fill his face with a smile, the other told him to keep walking. He chose Option C: hide all emotions as you wait for the person to come to you. One thing for sure, all those flowery blues and pinks didn't compare to Ade and his one clip-on black bowtie. 

        "You're late," he grunted, narrowing his eyes as Ade stopped a few inches in front of him. 

        "Yeah-well parking's a bitch around here. Are we doing this or what? I'm starving," he yanked his ticket from his back pocket, completely untarnished. 

         “Hey,” he snagged Ade’s wrist before he could pass him fully. He felt his pulse beneath his fingers, pulsating quicker and quicker. "No one else," TJ uttered. A brief cloud of panic passed over Ade, then he nodded succinctly. They didn't speak after that, neither of them bringing up last night. He dropped his hand as they continued to the gate, a kind man accepting their individual tickets. He'd never experienced such awkwardness until the elevator doors sealed them inside. TJ twitched for something to say, but Ade beat him to it. “So is this the part where you throw me against the wall and admit your mad and passionate love for me?” An unexpected snort caught them both off guard, making Ade's brows skyrocket, his expression torn between cracking up and playing it cool. 

         Afraid the smile might evaporate if he showed too much appreciation, TJ huffed, "Stop projecting. I might think it's cute." 

       "Whatever. You already think its cute," Ade winked as the elevator dinged open to a large, rambunctious group of already sloshed people. For that small second, he barely even noticed then until a feminine voice shooed him off.  

* * *

 

     "Emma Stone or Emma Watson?" 

      "Ooooo," Stiles hummed, actually taking his time to think about this one. Hard choice, really. On one hand-Hermione Granger, on the other hand...every character that Emma Stone has ever played. He responded with, "Definitely, Emma Stone," and like the last four times, Jackson shot down his answer, then gave specific reasoning about his flawed decision. Any other day and he'd rebuttal, but three hours of sleep could only afford him a lazy cackle. 

      Sometime between right now and pizza last night, Stiles decided the whole raising-kids-thing wasn't created for him. He already couldn't sleep with the time zone mishap and now he battled the crackling baby monitor. By five am, they gave up sleep entirely, choosing to play silly games with Jackson until the next cry appeared. Thankfully, silence reigned over them for-he checked his phone-two hours now.  _Oop,_ he took that back, his own hysterical cries intertwined with Gigi's baby babble. 

       Jackson scoffed at his misfortune; some boyfriend he was. "Stop whining. We gotta get up anyway. They'll be back soon." Because of their position, Jackson rolled him off the bed when he hopped up. He laid on the floor, even longer, until his stomach rumbled.  

       Zombified, Stiles trudged his way to the kitchen and started rifling through cabinets, with Leal's permission, of course. He located coffee first, a big pot for himself (and maybe for Jackson, too, if he asked nicely.) Only after he downed his first bitter cup did he search for food. Instantly awake, Stiles sorted through the fridge, cataloging what they could safely devour without lowering the stock. Clearly, the answer was everything; judging by their shelves, Leal and his wife fed several armies on a daily basis. Stiles inventoried three favors of bacon (low sodium, hickory smoked, and Canadian), two kinds of biscuits (Golden Flakes and Buttermilk), eggs, sausage, pancake mix, and at least a dozen fruit options. 

      He salivated over all of their options for at least ten minutes, then danced to work. The worry of too much food vanished when a knock sounded at the back door,.

      "You guys decent?" The littlest Marks cupped his eyes as he banged on the door, making his presence known. Stiles turned to watch him, not saying a word. Eventually, the greasy aroma reached him and he physically sighed, calmly removing his hand. "Oh hey," Z threw him an easy-going smile, innocent enough to get away with stealing a slice of bacon. "Where's Jacks?"

       "Baby business. Have a good night?" Stiles moved the plate back to the stove.  _Children._

        Z always seemed so composed to him, at least compared to other freshman boys his age. Stiles watched him shrug, "Mom made me hang with the in-laws. Pretty sure they hate me." 

       "Nah. I doubt that, dude. They seemed ok to me," he lied. They seemed _freaking awesome_ to him; he loved winning the hearts of pretentious assholes. 

       "Yeah, that's cause you're fluent in ass-kissing and bullshit," he spewed biscuit crumbs as he talked.

         "You know me so well," he joked back, not even bothering to hide the biscuits, too. While they waited for Jackson, they cracked harmless jokes about both families' crazy relatives. Ten minutes later, Jackson resurfaced with Sleeping Beauty. 

         He stormed in, holding her at arm's length, "Baby shi-poop stinks," he corrected himself then passed her off to Z. Stiles hopped up to transfer the food from the stove to the table. They moved around each other in the small kitchen, suddenly extremely aware of their lack of clothing. No one mentioned it, so he neither did he. When he opened the fridge to grab the milk, Jackson tried to reach over him for a bottle of formula. They collided, his back pressing against Jackson's chest, paralyzing them both. 

         "God, y'all are so weird," Z snorted into the baby's head, making them both squint over their shoulders, simultaneously. "Stop, it's freaky!! Leal's not even this bad and he and Tiff created a human. Domestic SOBS." His relaxed comment relax them; he sighed as Jackson kissed him fast on the cheek and slid away to torment his cousin. Stiles plopped down soon after. 

        After breakfast, Stiles made the bed while Z picked a movie to pass the time. He flopped down on the couch to find Mall Cop on the screen. After he tucked in Gia for her midday nap, Jackson also came over, having materialized his book-bag from thin air. Sitting across from him, he weaseled his toes under Stiles's thigh and focused on his homework. Halfway through the movie, Leal banged open the door, two bags in each hand. 

         "Uh oh! Stranger Danger!" Leal bumbled over to the couch and lifted him in a loose hug, much to Jackson's physical comfort. "Y'all have a good night?"

         "We should be asking you that," Jackson piped up, barely glancing away from his notebook. 

         "Oh, I had a _splendid_ night. How's my pumpkin? You didn't kill her, did you?"

         Jackson dead-panned, "Yes-I killed your child." Slapping him around the head, Leal clambered towards the back. After he officially met Tiffany, someone had the brightest idea to give him a lengthy tour of the property, which meant walking and lots of it. By the time they reached the house, every atom of his body cried, partly because of this place, but also because they dragged him across fields and woods and pastures.

         His skin begged for a shower, the only reason he forced himself up the long, curved driveway. Then, Percy came bounding around the corner and like that, all was better. The dog sprinted straight to Stiles, darting in and out of his legs. "Hey, long time no see bud," he cooed in his baby voice, letting the dog attack him with enthusiastic kisses. "He neglects you, doesn't he?! It's ok, Stiles's here now." Gazing up at Jackson, he bit the edge of his smile, as if to say, "yep, I'm stealing your dog, again." Both he and Z rolled their eyes and left him to catch up. 

         Inside, Stiles soaked in what felt like everything and nothing. He couldn't focus on one particular thing; blame the coffee. As they trudged upstairs, Jackson gave him a half-assed tour. "Jessie. Aunt and Uncle. Library. Bedroom. Z. Ade. Me," he pointed once they reached the last two doors, tucked away from the others. Jackson's door paled blandly next to Ade's blinding caution sign. 

          At least, the inside held some personality and he wasn't speaking of the mess. Jackson cleaned around him, while he flopped headfirst onto the bed, grinning at the fluffiness. He took advantage of the silence, his eyes fluttering shut within seconds. 

          Sometime later, a hot back pressed against his, evoking a lazy moan. Jackson nosed along the neck of his shirt, "What happened to that shower?" he muttered, forcing him to roll over. Stiles mourned the nap that would've been as he blinked up at him. Leaning in to sniff him, Jackson faked a sour expression, shriveled nose and everything, "You're stinking up my bed."

        Stiles punched in the shoulder, though his exhaustion made it a gentle nudge, "You said, I didn't smell!"

       Smirking, Jackson batted his fist away with his right hand, the left smoothed over his sweaty back. His insecurities forced him to wiggle from under him. 

        "Towels in the closest," he yelled after him.

        When Stiles stepped out, freshly cleansed and still soapy, he entered the room with a towel wrapped tight to his waist.

        "Hold up-he's out. Yeah, I'm asking him." Jackson cupped his phone's mouthpiece, "They wanna know if we want to meet them at Chili's." His lust-filled gaze roamed over Stiles's body appreciatively, making him clutch tighter to his towel. 

        "They?" he asked, rummaging through his bag for something reasonable to wear. 

        "Yeah. Ade. TJ. His aunt and some other girl." 

         "Okay. You know me," He was always hungry; his belly gurgled at the slightest mention of food. Case in point--a boisterous rumble bounced off the walls.  _  
_

         "That would be a yes. Just text me the address. Cool. Bye," Jackson barely waited for TJ to finish his last word. Tossing his phone on the bed, he vaulted off the mattress, his next move foreshadowed by crinkle in his eyes. Stiles shielded himself with his towel, backing up each time Jackson stalked forward. 

         "No," he faked left, as if he'd actually run, which only darkened his smirk to a leer. "I just took a shower!"

         "So, you can take another. With me." Who in their right mind would say no to that? Stiles stopped protesting after that; he groaned, letting himself be captured by the waist. The first soft press of lips made him whimper because helloooo,  _shower,_ but also because tongues, and lips, and scratchy fingers.

        That same feeling he got when Jackson kissed him knotted his inside. Stiles hauled him closer. Most, people always raved about first times, but Stiles preferred seconds. Sure- last night wasn't their first, by a long shot, but he considered it the first time after the distance. In the kitchen, he didn't get to take his time: bite kisses over Jackson's jaw or nip his bottom lip, then smooth over the pain. He let the towel fall to the floor, his hands too occupied with stripping away Jackson's shirt to grab it. 

         One of their phones vibrated, which was enough for him to remember bits of the plan.  _Chili's. Ade. TJ._ Stiles forced himself to pull back, "But Chili's..." he muttered.

        "There was traffic," Jackson whispered against his mouth and he couldn't muster another strong argument. 

-

        Everyone at the table totally knew, called it the second they jogged over to the table, more disheveled than before the shower. Jackson's still damp hair curled at the edges, making Ade grumble about bathrooms and unspoken boundaries. For the first twenty minutes, TJ breathed deeply through his mouth. The girl-- well women--snickered madly. As he spied Jackson's private grin, he decided that missing appetizers was 190% worth it.

-

        After that, dinner improved exponentially. Soon the attention shifted away from their tawdry affairs and onto the two people most deserving of it. So caught up in his own relationship, he didn't even know his friends went on their first official date.

        "It wasn't a date," Ade protested, his cheeks prudishly pink about the _outlandish_ acquisitions against them. He could so picture them playing an angry game of 'footsie' under the table. His eyes watered from the burn of squirting Sprite from his nostrils. Across from him, Jackson hid his amusement behind a baby back rib. Eventually, the table split into three conversations: he and Ade, Jacks and TJ, and the girls.

      They skipped desert in favor of some club, a few blocks away. Apparently, Saturdays were the craziest and as an outsider, it was his obligation to experience the hype at least once. He trailed behind the group, sipping his to-go coffee. On the walk over, he practiced his poker face, which Jackson took to mean he didn't want to be there. Stiles knocked against his shoulders, reassuring him that he wasn't about to bolt. Giving him one of his rarer smiles, Jackson bumped back. Together, they finished the two-block trek in companionable silence.

     The queue line stretched around the brick building, at least fifty or sixty people long, most of the males in tight jeans and tighter shirts and the females in black or gold dresses. He worried for their lives when TJ's aunt breezed to the front. Stiles stepped further into Jackson's side as a way to distance himself from the anarchy, but Jackson switched them, so that he was the one closest to the rope. At the entrance, the bouncer ignored them completely.

     The hefty man only had eyes for TJ's aunt; he hoisted her up by the rump, completely unfocused as they shuffled past him with their cover charge sliding back into their pockets. 

     Music drummed over his skin, in time with his spiking heartbeat. Stiles scanned the club, so packed it could be a violation of fire code. Heads blended together under the streak of the red and blue strobe lights. He clung to Jackson's belt loop as people pushed at them from every side. 

      "It's crazy right?" Ade shouted, beaming like Christmas and his birthday came early. When he didn't respond, Ade clucked his teeth, "I know you can party, Stilinski. Relax! Get a drink! Have fun." Then, TJ was yanking him into the crowd, a group of women immediately swarming them.

      He bobbed his head to the beat as they waded through the crowd, in pursuit of the bar. Stiles drummed his hands on the wood once they found an opening, Jackson perched on the stool to his right. People filled in around them as they waited for one of the bartenders to make their over. 

      "-Can I buy you a drink?" A deep voice crooned to his immediately left; Stiles swung around, fairly sure the guy was talking to someone else. This wasn't a gay bar and he certainly didn't ooze 'you should hit on me in front of my boyfriend.' 

      Of course, his luck had the dude leaning over his space in pursuit of Jackson. "Cutie, how about a drink?" he repeated with Stiles standing right there!

      Stiles's relaxed smile curled into something ugly, a stretched, full toothed grimace that locked his jaw. Neither he nor _Mister Assface_ moved as they waited for Jackson's reaction, a slow, but charming smirk. "Thanks," Jackson winked without actually winking. It was hard to explain the flithy crinkle of his left eye. 

      Point was, he winked, Jackson  _winked._ To a guy who was at least late twenties. Stiles gaped, still confused at the sudden shift in events. He glared at the stained wood, much to the amusement of _Assface_ and his nasty, unkempt gold-tee. 

      Hailing for the bartender, _Assface_ leaned further into him, "So, what's your name?" he asked, his Heineken-scorched breath burning into Stiles's wrist. Abruptly, he weaseled his bottom off the chair, preparing to give them some privacy, but Jackson snagged his wrist, right where _Assface's_ dog breath met his skin. 

      They talked amiably for minutes while Stiles seethed, trying not to let jealousy get the best of him. "You wanna dance?" 

      Jackson scoffed behind the first sip of newly acquired beer."Nah, but thanks for the drink. We appreciate it," he tilted the bottle Stiles's way, as both an offering and an apology.

      After glaring at it, Stiles laid his hand over Jackson's hand and accepted the bottle. "Move along, asshole," he hissed; the asshole was unnecessary, but he felt no remorse.

      The second they were alone in the sea of bodies, Jackson snatched the bottle back and met his hard gaze. "Don't waste your time on jealousy."

       "No?" he grumbled, shuffling closer to Jackson's stool until he reached the edges of his knees. He leaned down, brushing their lips over together, but withholding contact. When Jackson pushed up, he ducked back, keeping out of reach. "Flirting with other assholes in front of me? Why shouldn't I be jealous?" Tremors of his aggravation slip through the cracks of his false smile. 

       "Because..." Jackson finished off the bottle, a nervous gulp hidden under his last prolonged sip. "You have the best ass in the room."

      Stiles snorted lightly, "Damn right I do." He slipped the bottle from his fist and placed it on the bar. "We're dancing." He led him far enough in so that Jackson couldn't escape, but away from the near orgy towards the middle. He didn't think he could handle someone else wrapping their arms tightly Jackson's waist.

     Stiles pulled him so that his body tucked into the curve of his. The music pumped over them, but all he heard was Jackson, felt Jackson. He swayed to the music, keeping it innocent, though he really wanted to rut against him, roll his semi shamelessly against that ass. But, he didn't because he had class, very little of it, but class, nonetheless. 

      He couldn't say how long they danced, letting the inhibitions of the crowd sweep over them. Depending on the song, they switched pace: fast roll of hips or slow, sensual swaying that could really classify as standing still. With Jackson's head falling back against his shoulder, it was simple to let go of time. Eventually, the rhythmic sway allowed his exhaustion to spiral back. 

       "Tired?" Jackson mumbled into his ear. Stiles swore he spoke words or sounds perhaps, because they started heading for the door. Moments blurred after that: conversations, exhilarated shouts, car honks, then crickets, silence. He felt strong arms tighten around him, pulling him from the car.

       " _Mnjhmim,"_   he protested, but Jackson cradled him through the dark hallways. Much to his drained knowledge, he thought the house was empty as Jackson settled them down on soft, cushy mattress. "Mmm...bed," Stiles sighed at the same time Jackson fought with his complicated cross-lacing. He inclined his neck uncomfortably to watch him loosen each individual string, so tender, gentle.  "I love you," he blurted, then followed it up with, "Man, I miss saying that." 

       Jackson's fingers haulted, "Why'd you stop?"  

       "Eh, I dn'tknw," Stiles murmured. "You stopped too."

       Silence kidnapped their already hushed conversation. Even in his sleep-addled state, Stiles worried he might have upset him, weirded him out with all his feelings and words. "Stiles, I love you," he emphasized each word, tone as unguarded as that day on his porch. Stiles opened his eyes again just to see Jackson's expression, so warm he felt a tingling branch from his toes. 

       "Yea ok. Awesome." 

       They blinked open smiles at one another, until it slid into ridiculous territory. Danny would have rolled his eyes and called them love-struck dummies. He returned to Mr.Pillow as Jackson resumed with his laces. "Get some sleep, brat. Tomorrow, I'll take you to the stables." He hoped he'd remember that promise in the morning because he'd die for an image to complement his cowboy Jackson fantasy. Grinning, Stiles finally caught up on sleep. 

* * *

        On Monday, Jackson swaggered out of fourth period with an actual smile. He didn't snarl as freshman shoved past him, or when some of Drew's guys snickered at his "gay" outfit. He nodded at their _fugly_ faces and kept it moving. For once, nothing about this school repulsed him--all was gravy. 

      He found himself gravitating towards the cafeteria for lunch, instead of driving to Subway like he normally did. (Granted, he left his truck with Stiles, but that wasn't important.) Pushing through the double doors, he heard his friends before he saw them squished around a rectangle table, closest to the center. Members from the surrounding tables shot them pointed glares that went completely unnoticed. 

      "Bitches, why so loud?" he slammed his bag on the table and straddled an empty bench space. They gawked at him: dropped jaws, open mouths, wide eyes, full on gawk. For _months,_ they begged him to eat here in this overpriced, over-caffeinated, over-fried establishment and when he showed, this was how they respond. He snorted, reaching over to snag some fries from the closest plate. As if that clicked "play" on the remote, chaos returned. 

"Ohhhh!" "What?!" "Look who finally gave it!!" "Weasling little bastard. Finally!!"

     Hands attacked him from every direction: clapping him on the back, attempting to ruin his hair, tugging on his plain white t-shirt. He weaseled away from their greasy touch, a smile threatening to break over his dry expression. 

       "Seriously, look at him. Chipper than a leprechaun," someone shouted clear across the table; with all the raucous, there was no telling who. 

     "That's the miraculous power of getting laid," Georgia, a girl with strong hands and a child's voice, gripped his cheeks and pulled, exposing teeth. He nipped at her hand until she jumped away. "So, we hear Wonder Boy's kind of an asshole," she continued while shoving him a Ziploc of apple slices. He lucked out with this group; they were so undercover-fluid with their own "private practices" that no one really cared about him dating Stiles. 

     Stealing a few from the bag, he said, "Would I be with him if he wasn't?"

       She shrugged her shoulders, as if to concede his point. "Please tell me you're bringing him out this weekend." Her plea snagged the attention of the group, even though they'd already settled into their side conversations. As much as he liked them, Jackson didn't want to lose Stiles to their flashy smiles and slight-illegal parties.  _  
_

        He huffed at their innocent pouts. "Maybe, but only IF he wants to." After another round of tousling, they returned to their side conversations. "Where's TJ?"

       "'Don't know," she shrugged. "He didn't come to third perioddd...ah, found him." Jackson followed her voice, all the way to the side entrance, where TJ and his cousin strolled in together, at least a foot between them. "So, its true then? They're fucking?"

         Deep, deep, deep down, he wanted to throttle her and yell,  _duh. Are you fucking stupid. Of course, they're boning. You've been friends since poppy diapers and tricycles, how do you not know this?!_

       Reality forced him to shrug and rotate away from the old news. If wanted to hear their useless arguments, he'd open his bathroom door. It wasn't until someone chirped, "Mmmm, who's the newbie?" that they actually held his attention. Jackson smirked at their so-called  _newbie,_ aka Stiles bumbling behind Ade and TJ, his bright eyes soaking in the cliched panther mural on the wall.

       "He's adorable. I call dibs," Georgia blurted, elbowing him in the ribs. 

        "Eh, don't waste your time. You'd have better luck with that loser," he nodded to some kid, studiously reading alone. The boy blushed under the weight of their stares. "Yep, that's what you need. All cute and docile." 

        "You don't think I could get cute and docile outta him??" 

        "Nah-I'm quite demanding," Stiles answered for him, bumping him over an inch so, that they could both fit on the bench. Stiles smoothed a palm over his knee, a private hello in front of their very nosy audience. Seconds later, a glorious, Subway bag materialized in front of him. "And, I talk wayyyy too much. Oh, and I hope you like pizza cause that's all we're eating from now on. Chinese? Nope. Pizza. Mexican? What, of course not. Pizza. You want me to cook? Sure. Pizza. All day. Everyday." Stiles chuckled at her paralyzed expression, frozen with wonder and amusement. "Yeah--you should probably just stick with that guy. I heard he has a big heart...and an even bigger dick."

       Chunks of lettuce exploded from his mouth, causing the entire group to laugh at him, Stiles and TJ included. He glared at their smug faces but, Stiles especially, who had the nerve to wink and smooth a warm hand up and down his thigh.  

       "I'm Stiles," he beamed at her, offering his hand. When she connected the dots, and it took awhile,  Georgia gasped at both of them. 

       "Noooo, but you look so diff-"

      "It's the hair," they both said, simultaneously and then snapped to grin at each other. 

       "Wowww. It's bad," another voice teased as TJ blurted, "See? What did I tell you!?" Because there were assholes, everyone wanted a piece of Stiles, shaking his hand, drooling over him, giving him compliment after compliment on his clothes and hair and "you have such a pretty smile." Jackson huffed at their brown-nosing, but he preferred this over the alternative. 

       Halfway through his second six-inch, Stiles pivoted towards him, "Oh, Ade wanted to talk to you."

       "He can't come over here?" Jackson eyed him, on the other side of the caferteria, eating with his friends. 

       "I'm pretty sure your legs work too."

      With an exaggerated sigh, he forced himself off the bench, snatched up his sandwich, and tossed the cookie in Stiles's direction. When he reached the midway point, he glanced back to find the entire table huddle together, whispering in secret. Fifteen minutes in and he regretted introducing Stiles to them already.

      For the rest of the week, Stiles brought him lunch and picked him up after school. He'd like to say they spent every non-educational moment on some type of boyfriend adventure: midnight horseback rides on glowing trails or picnics in the woods, stretched over that random hammock. He'd like to say that. Reality had him free of work and inside during their three days of consecutive rain. Nothing but junk food, video games, and Amazon Prime graced their time. Sometimes, Z and his friends joined them. Other times, Ade or TJ came down, always separately, never together. 

       Friday, they were all sprawled across the basement, Cheetos dust covering almost every fingertip. He and Stiles stretched over the large couch with a row of freshman heads below them. Two of Jackson's other friends claimed the loveseat with TJ across from them in the armchair, shielding the sketchbook in his lap. Every few seconds, he'd peek up at Ade, who sat at the bar, to knock out his homework. His uncle came down during the rolling credits, halting at their mess. He took a long look at them and stalked off, mumbling something about, "kids and the lack of exercise." Never silence settled over the room as they waited for him to pour a glass of scotch. Finally, he trudged upstairs with a chortle and they commenced their next episode of _Shameless._ As long as everyone kept the agreement, no one else had to know. 

* * *

        On Saturday, Jackson could buy cigarettes, R-rated movies, and porn in every state. The day progressed perfectly until Stiles told him Drew invited him to his party. The fact that they even had contact set him off. Jackson bristled, almost playing his birthday card to keep them away from that pile of hay and manure. Then, his aunt deemed it a "wonderful"idea, which led them to this moment, driving towards that awful field. 

        "Ten minutes," he grunted, forcing himself to take the turn, the road as dark as his mood. "I'm serious, Stiles," he glared at the nothingness in front of them, then over at Stiles, who jittered with excitement. "Ten minutes. Say it," he jacked another sharp right.

        "Ugh, ten minutes. It's a party, Jacks. You're supposed to have fun," Stiles raved, reaching over to throttle his shoulders. Jackson didn't want to bust his juvenile mentality, so he kept his sour mood to himself. Drew's partied didn't know the meaning of such term. _Hell,_ no party here knew it, but everyone deserved their first. Finally, after all the twists and turns, they took the last bumpy left, onto the darkened field. Silent. Suspiciously silent. The moon's dull glow served as the only light rather than the blazing fire you could usually spot from a mile away. His tires ate at the gravel, making the only noise in an otherwise still lot. No music. No lights. Only a wasteland of cars, trucks, and heartbeats. Jackson swerved into one of the last spaces, even though his basic instinct told him to reverse it. He felt the eyes and bodies; he just couldn't see them. 

       "Stay here," he swung to the ground and of course, Stiles being Stiles, hopped down too, as loud as possible. Rolling his eyes, Jackson stalked ahead of him, but tugged him along by the hand. His cousin he trusted, but Ade wasn't the one who extended the invitation. Jackson crept closer, careful not to make too much noise since Stiles was doing enough of that for the both of them.

         It all came alive when he stepped on the grass. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" An army of voices roared, sending a million shocks to his heart. Headlights from every car flicked on, blinding them in a tunnel of light. As if that wasn't enough, string lights illuminated the tree branches, just as someone set the main bonfire. Orange, reds, and yellows drew up in flames before simmering to a high blaze. 

         Jackson blinked rapidly, adjusting to the onslaught of light as Stiles pumped his hand in the air. After a prolonged minute, his eyes could focus on other things, like the banner stringing between two trees, _Happy Birthday, fucktard."_  

         "So, ten minutes, yeah?" Stiles snickered, nudging him in the side. 

         Against his will, he felt a genuine smile distort his face, one more suited for Stiles's face (or  _good god,_ McCall's face). "You did this?" 

        "Well, if I'm being nice, I had some help," Stiles nodded to a small section of people in the front. Five months ago, the 'loud and obnoxious' group he met at that gas station would have never step foot on this soil. Here, they were, casually strolling over to them, TJ and Ade leading them. 

        "Damn right, you did," Ade shoved Stiles playfully before yanking Jackson into a bear hug. "Yo, we're getting you so turnt." Ade only allowed his friends a few seconds for hugs and unwrapped gift cards before he was leading him into the crowd of slightly-familiar face. He lost Stiles in the thicket of vultures, but found him between heads, joking around with TJ on the sidelines. With Ade leading him by the shoulders, Jackson made his obligatory rounds, semi-politely thanking people for the birthday wishes and accepting random hugs. His nose started to itch from the plethora of smells. Finally, people stopped pretending this weekly gathering was about him, leaving him to his friends and Stiles. In their absence, most of his friends disappeared, not that he was surprised. They strutted to their exclusive hangout to find Stiles, a disgruntled TJ, and an even more sour Drew. The others, blazing blurry from the fire, weren't worth the recognition. 

        "Having fun yet?" Stiles asked, scooting over on someone's truck bed for him to sit. Jackson tossed him half a smile because he didn't want to alter his warm, hopeful expression. Stiles saw through his bullshit, but let him get away with it anyway. Stiles offered him his bottle as he said, "Well, they were telling me about the barn."

       "Eww," he cringed at said barn, sitting atop the hill like a beacon of low, diseased light. "Don't step foot in that shit. Not unless, you want, like four STDs." 

       The girl on the other side of Stiles laughed, "He's not lying. Last year, eleven people got Chlamydia." 

       He gave Stiles a 'told ya' glimmer and chuckled at his gasped, "Shut up! You're lying."

       Across the fire, a guy with thick, long locs joined the conversation, "Oh man, remember when we caught Ade in the barn alone and everyone went around saying he fucked himself?" Ade's small group of friends erupted with laughter while they mimed blow-jobs with their fists. Jackson stifled his out of family solidarity. 

       Ade flipped them all off, "Laugh all you want bitches, but if I could suck myself off, I would do it every day. Self loving is the shit."

       "Here here," Stiles cackled, raising his bottle in salute. He absolutely did not need that image rattling around in his brain. The night progressed around him and all he could do was sit there and pretend to enjoy the conversation for Stiles's sake. He pivoted to lean back against the truck wall, not minding the view at all. Stiles laughed openly with Ade's friends, throwing his head back in such a relaxed manner Jackson could never achieve. This side of his face ablaze around the fire, soft skin meeting hard edges. Jackson didn't mind being ignored, as long as Stiles kept resting his elbow on Jackson's knee. If anyone was bothered by the contact, they didn't show it. Well, other than Drew, who sat across from them in the circle. By now, Jackson was so used to his unwavering attention that it barely bothered him. Then, Drew kept glaring at where Stiles touched him, glaring at Stiles in general.

 _Jealous,_ he mouthed, knowing Drew was staring hard enough to make out the word clearly. He probably shouldn't have goaded him, winking at Drew's steadfast interest in his sex life. No one else noticed Drew's fiery blush, but Jackson caught it before he replaced it with a snarl. Jackson cackled and pushed further into Stiles's space. Unbeknownst to the situation, Stiles smoothed a hand over his jeans as he chatted with the others. He found entertainment in ruffling Drew, making him as wildly uncomfortable as possible. With Ade here, Drew didn't dare speak to him or Stiles. A couple of minutes later, Ade disappeared to fill the cooler, TJ following him soon after with an important call. The second they left, the game changed entirely. His eyes narrowed, waiting, just waiting for him to say even a syllable to Stiles. They tracked each other, clear challenge in their eyes. Until now, they'd kept out of each other's physical orbit. If-and only if-they crossed paths, they played cordial fro Ade's sake, but his cousin would be preoccupied and they both knew it. 

      Jackson didn't notice the circle grew silent until he felt Stiles pat his knee. "Hey, walk with me," Stiles murmured, tugging him to the ground. They took two steps when he heard. 

*

      "Have fun with your AIDS," Drew called after them, drawing attention from his clique of friends and everyone lingering around them. People sputtered chuckles into their cups as a small crowd circled them in. Drew thrived off the attention, standing on his wobbly legs to face them. Like the true ass-kissers they were, his few guys followed like the ridiculous wall of wimpy muscles behind him. He gestured to his crowd, his party, his people. "Look around, assmonkey, your friends are gone," he sneered, hatred twinkling his no-doubt-closeted eyes.  

*

      If he wanted to, Jackson could handle every last one of them in his sleep. In fact, if he really thought about it, he'd done far worst and the pack would argue that he _was_ sleep. The thought pulled a hard, slick laugh from him; it increased the heaviness in his pulse. The crowd stood at a stand still, waiting for his next move. Drew's eyes lit when he took a step forward, but Stiles stopped him. Instead of pulling him away, Stiles stepped up right beside him, grinning falsely.  

      "Do we have a problem?" Stiles's voice dripped with calculated malice, one far more controlled than either his or Drew's. Besides semi-finals and that one time at the vintage store, he rarely witnessed a Stiles that wasn't goofing around: sarcastically happy. Standing here, watching Stiles's shoulders press down and his jaw twitch from the too wide, closed-mouth grin, Jackson grinned. No one-not even Drew- was stupid enough to mess fuck with that kind of unpredictable anger. When no one answered him, he smiled, even wider. "Ok then. You guys have a good night," he nodded his head and backed away, pulling Jackson with him. 

      He ignored the cowardly slurs as Stiles led him to the car. Even at a safe distance, their words still fluttered in his ear, like knats in summer heat. "God, you have every right to hate them," Stiles hissed, when they were safely sealed behind locked doors. "Take us wherever you want. We're going to celebrate your fucking birthday, even if it kills us," Stiles barked and Jackson obliged him, swerving out of the field for hopefully the last time. 

      He drove the speed limit and they still arrived at his favorite place within minutes. He'd only been to the Drive-In once, by himself, but he liked the privacy. Stiles chuckled at the old-fashion movie marquee as they turned after the neon red sign. He read the movie listings, calmer than he was five minutes ago. 

     "Wowww, they still have Frozen," his eyes crinkled in merriment. Jackson pretended not to notice his pleading smirk. Unfortunately, the unspoken request didn't evaporate into the  _'hell no, never'_ land. "Please. Please. Please!!! No one has to know," Stiles needled him in the side as he started to sing:

     " _Reindeers are better than people. Sven, don't you think that's truueee-_ _Yeah, people will beat you and curse you and cheat you. Everyone of em's bad, except you-"_ he smacked a wet kiss on his temple, adding an extra emphasis on 'you.'

     "Ok! Fine-" he caved, "Just no more of that. Ever." Jackson's lips stretched to cover his teeth, working as a veil to mask his amusement. "You're so nerdy, you didn't even sing a popular one."

      "The fact that you know what's popular in the first place make you a nerd, too," he leaned over, pressing a softer kiss on his cheek. "I hope you know this will be an interactive experience." 

      Ticket in windshield, he navigated the grounds, passing the sings for the other, equally shitty movie. Soon, they pulled into a field with four other cars; each at least teen feet from each other. The forefront sat a large family, children running back and forth between the concession stand. The other three cars were similar to him and Stiles, remaining hidden from anyone who could possibly recognize them. 

      He skirted around the perimeter before deciding on middle-left, less suspicious to security, but still with their own quadrant. The second he parked the car, Stiles wiggled himself onto his lap, legs and limbs everywhere. 

     "I'm sorry about tonight. That sucked," he apologized, entangling his fingers at the base of his neck. He didn't want to talk about them, any of them, so he shrugged and met him for a kiss.

     Before they spiraled, Jackson forced himself back, "What happened to 'it's the greatest movie in the world. I know all the words'?" he teased, pressing circles under Stiles's shirt. 

      Kissing the top of his ear, Stiles sung, "Do you wanna touch my-"

Jackson laughed, muffling the rest of that line with his mouth. Stiles more than gladly stopped singing after that. They didn't actually start watching until well after Elsa became head ice bitch of Arendale, fighting about the movie radio station until finally the audio track blared through the truck. Despite the rough begin, it wasn't a bad birthday, not at all. 

* * *

      All too soon, they were stepping through AC blasts at the airport. Jackson clutched Stiles's duffel to occupy his other hand and stop it from forcing Stiles back office. Especially since, Stiles was all business, vigorously searching for the self-check in counter. Yes, he was currently acting like a selfish idiot. Of course, Stiles had to finish his last month of school and head back to work—with his dad. _Ugh,_ the irony in that did not please him. Neither of them had said a word since breakfast with his family this morning. In fact, they didn't really talk at breakfast either. Stiles had fiddled with Jackson's thumb under the table as he and Ade punished him for the lack of time they spent together. They laughed, throwing around inside jokes he didn't understand, but Jackson let them have their little moment because he was a _good fucking boyfriend._ He swiveled around, joining his aunt and uncle's very boring, very adult conversation. 

     "What the fuck?" he blurted when fingernails twisted his nipple in the middle of an airport. A few affronted travelers behind them sneered at his language, but he was too busy lowering at Stiles too care. 

      Stiles bounced on his heels, smirking at him innocently. "You were being a downer. I fixed it," he said, shrugging as if people always pinch nipples as a sign of comfort. "Oh my god. Stop being an idiot," Stiles pressed a kiss to his temple and his irritation bled from him. "We can do two more weeks.

       "Speak for yourself."

       “Oh please. You’ll be too busy worried about finals and packing and friends and family and...I can continue if you want” Stiles teased as he commandeered his duffel. The airport security woman motioned them away from the natural flow of traffic. They lingered on the side of the black rope; another security guy in his starch uniform stared at them dryly. "I'll text you when I land."

       "Yeah alright," he tried not to pout, but Stiles shook his head fondly anyway. Human indecency was the only thing stopping him from kissing the mess out of him or pretending they need to go to the bathroom for...something, anything important. 

       "Be good." Stiles whispered then kissed him, open-mouthed and unashamed. A few bystanders queuing for the line stared at them, but Jackson blocked them out. "Bye. Love you." Stiles snuck another quick kiss then left him with a wink. He was bounding through the lengthy line before Jackson could say it back. 

* * *

        Back at the house, Jackson stumped up the steps three at a time. The house felt unnaturally silent; the wall usually shook with laughter, conversation, and at least three different songs. He room felt no different. Glancing at the tornado this week caused--wet towels and clothes of the floor, food wrappers lazily thrown in the vicinity of the trash, his fitted sheet randomly by the bathroom door--his eyes swept over a large manila envelope on his bed. Yeah, that wasn't there when they left for the airport. Jackson tossed his keys on the desk and approached the thing slowly, as if an animal might spring from the sealed package. Then again, with his life, he could never be too careful. 

        _Jackson._

        Stiles wrote in that slick, thin handwriting of his, the lines rippling where parts of the envelope protruded. Jackson turned the package in his hand, hoping for a guess at the contents inside. More envelopes, both small and medium, dropped into his lap as he twisted it upside down. With a closer look, he noticed each one was addressed in a different handwriting. Of course, Stiles had to scrawl something extra on each one. He grinned down at the folders as he shuffled through them.  

 _(Open Me First.)_      

 _(OPEN LAST!!)_  

_(This ones from Scott-- > He tried, ok!)_

_(You're gonna like this one.)_

_(Eh, she coulda done better.)_

Following his instructions, he sat the others aside to find the first one held only a note and a ring of keys. Intrigued, he read on:

_Jackson,_

_Happy 18th birthday. Since we've never been particularly great at communicating, I'll speak briefly from here. I hope you had an exquisite birthday, one full of laughter, cake, and money._

_I'd be remiss if I didn't apologize, though I realize the untimely moment and place. My brother, he craved family above all else, whereas I loved the thrill of success. I allowed my juvenile mindset to fuel our already strenuous relationship. Therefore, I apologize for my role in your transformation. I'm sure we'll discuss the subject at length, later._

_For your gift, you will find the keys to your new apartment inside this envelope. Your mentor, Derek Hale, offered his old loft. It need much work--giant hole in the wall--but a deep renovation cured that right up. We have decided that you and another young man, Isaac Lahey, will share the space. (Your mom feels better knowing you won't be alone.) Together, you will pay Derek $150 dollars a month for rent and utilities._

_Of course, there will be rules, but you've been taking care of yourself for many years. I hope you are not thinking this a punishment. If you'd rather live at the house, then your room is yours. We figured this arrangement would give us the opportunity to connect outside the confines of our normal routine. In turn, we are always here to help._

_Well, have a good day. Party responsibly! I don't want to get a call from a precinct. Oh and congratulations on State. Very impressive. We'll talk more when you return._

_Dad_

      **Dad**. Jackson gazed upon those three letters until they blended into one. A tightness clogged his breathing until he shoved the letter away; out of sight, out of mind. Unfortunately, that phrase never worked as well as you wanted it to.  His thoughts kept returning back to the letter, even as he opened the other gifts. He had to say something, right? It wasn't as if he could text everyone 'thank yous' and not his father, who gave him the foundation for everyone else's gifts. He'd just draft a quick message, something simple, not too complicated and leave it at that. As he typed a bland ' _thanks,'_ a ribbon of other messages assaulted his phone. He waited by answering the pack's messages, which lead him to Isaac. 

 

_Isaac: You're welcome, man_

_Isaac: So roommates, huh?_

**Sent: Looks like it. Don't fuck while I'm there.**

_Isaac: Lol ditto bitch._  

**Sent: Haha, but seriously.**

_Isaac: Oh, it's a rule._

 

       Jackson cackled, moving onto bigger tasks when his father never answered. He headed to the basement and waded through all the storage junk, in search of the boxes they stuffed there five months ago. Two hours later, he'd already emptied out his closets and cleared away his four bookshelves. The bathroom door swung open while he was rebuilding the fourth box. 

        "Hey, we have an-oh," Ade paused, peering around his disfigured room. His eyes blanched before a sad, but supportive grin slid over his face. "Yo, we can do this later. Come one. T already grabbed you some boots." Normal people would wait for him to put down the over-sized moving box, but Ade pushed him towards the door, giving him only enough time to snatch his phone and keys from the desk. 

        Outside, he and TJ caught eyes and nodded at one another. His friend's bored grimace should have tipped him off because standing at the opposite end of the truck was none other than Drew. His good mood depleted, then, he caught Drew's black eye, bulging a lumpy purple. His shoulders shook as he choked on his laugh.  He started to open his mouth, but Ade cut him off, "Uh uh. No one's allowed to open their trap unless it's something good." Well, it looked like he won't be talking on this random adventure. Ade continued, "Now, Drew, has something to say."

       "Sorry," the guy bit down on a nowhere near genuine apology to which he pretended to accept. 

       "What are we now? The Breakfast Club?" he joked as Ade pushed him down the steps. 

       The comment awarded him a punch to the shoulder. "Kind words only. You have a problem; I have the solution. These two douche-bags are just here to air out their shit. Now, get your asses inside. " They expected them all to squeeze in that tiny thing? Jackson scowled at the one and a half rows of seating, then at their four bodies. He scoffed, eliciting a glare from his new best buddy. When they were grimacing at one another for far too long, Ade snapped his fingers. "Chop Chop, lover boy, we're wasting prom asking time!" 

 _Prom._ Jackson completely forgot about that, being across the country and all. Danny just texted him about it last week, double-checking if he'd be back in time before renting the limo. "Fine..." he succumbed, forcing himself into the sweaty backseat. TJ squeezed in beside him; they both shared glares of death. "What does this _thing_ have to do with me asking Stiles to prom?"

        Slamming the door, Ade pivoted to wink at them, "Nothing, until we get it dirty." With that, they lurched away from the safe, comfort of the house and into a very dismal unknown. 

* * *

        He spent an hour and two showers washing the muck from his hair, but Jackson admitted it was worth it, oh so worth it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your support has been phenomenal. Hugs for the room. There's a very very small chapter after this, so "Click NEXT!"
> 
> Also, the "Emma Stone/Emma Watson" was inspired by an anon question to someone on my dashboard. Now, I really wish I liked the post.


	24. The Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: There's another new chapter before this one!! I'd read that first. Or not. You know, your call.
> 
> (x) This image inspired Stiles's response.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about 1/3 of the next chapter written, plus snippets of the final chapter, so that's positive news. 
> 
> Sadly, I am also blazing head-first into my final month at school. If I can't squeeze another one in before finals, we'll always have SUMMER BREAK!!!!! There needs to be triumphant music in the background. (*What time is it?! The time of our lives! Anticipation! What time is it?? Summer-Time! School's out, scream and shout! Finally, summer's here...*) 
> 
> Wow, the fact that I can quote HSM without consulting online lyrics concerns me. -_-
> 
> Anyway, if anyone else is going into finals and needs someone to de-stress with, or just someone to talk to in general, I'm over at manspirations.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and supporting both me and the story. I wish I could hug you all. Have a good rest of the week!


	25. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quick reminder: all TW canon "monster of the week" plot points (beside the nogistune obviously) happened in some weird, alternate universe where Stiles doesn't exist yet.

       Jackson abhorred rest stops. Their desolate, shadowed pathways and broken water fountains. Stray pamphlets tumbling across his shoes, looking far too similar to cockroaches and gigantic spiders in the darkness. If he never saw a rest stop again, he’d be a semi-happy person.

       Scrubbing his hands in a public bathroom, one hundred and nine miles from the California border, Jackson cringed whenever his skin touched the mold building underneath the faucet. Five days—that’s how long it’s taking them (so far) to cross seven whole states. And in that time, he had seen far too many dingy bathrooms like this one and far too little mattresses, lumpy ones excluded. As he glimpsed his stringy hair in the smudged mirror, he grunted, turned the knob with his elbow, and trudged outside.

      Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he kept his ears pealed to every heartbeat within a one-hundred foot radius, human and animal alike. Besides a handful of snoozing truckers, several raccoons near the side benches, and a couple engaging in some very naughty activity, he and his two goons were blessedly alone.

      In fact, the other forms of life probably should fear them more. With Ade hunched over their picnic table and TJ perched across from him, they rummaged through what appeared to be an entire vending machine’s inventory—chips, cookies, crackers, candy bars, drinks, several packages of gum. You’d think they were starting an illegal  ice cream truck business.

       “Dibs,” he heard Ade yell, snatching a pack of _Skittles_ from TJ’s hand.  As he hopped on the table, Jackson stole the bag, just because he could. He didn’t even like Skittles ; they tasted like medicine.

      “That was mine, dipshit,” Ade punched him in the stomach, hard enough for TJ to sneak them out of his pocket. The ridiculous hour stole his voice, so all he managed was a sneer.

      “Eloquent. We snagged you some lukewarm coffee,” TJ said, offering him chemical swirling sludge.  He took it anyway, sending him a not frown as his thank you. After that, they returned to the bickering, something Stiles liked to call bizarre foreplay. He laid back on splintering wood and blinked at the indigo sky. Soon, the sky would shift from blue to orange and he didn’t want to think of what would happen after that. Heavy thoughts weighed on his eyes until a finger prodded them.

      “We moving on or chilling out?”

       Jackson shrugged his shoulders, even though they felt nailed to the table. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone drive another mile. “Can’t drive; my arms broke.”

       “How’d you even survive the first time? This is child’s play.”

       “We didn’t stop at _every_ roadside attraction for one,” he bumped his half-empty cup into TJ’s side because it physically strained him to turn his head.

       “Excuse me. When are we ever going to see the world’s largest ball of paint again?” TJ said.

       “Never. That’s the point.”

       Ade chuckled, flashing his rainbow teeth. “Yeah—that one was a waste of brain cells. Literally just a ball hanging from the ceiling. The thing was hollow.”

       “No, it wasn’t!”

       And off they went. On a good day, he could stomach their banter. Right now, he wanted silence and sleep. The second he settled into the passenger seat, he drifted off, sounds of doggy snores and rambling teenagers floating in the background.

       He woke to barking, honking, and rays more annoying than they were beautiful. Stretching, he startled when he saw the wrong person in his driver’s seat. “I banned you,” his voice croaked. The last time he let Ade drive his baby, Cheetos dust stained his wheel.

       Ade winked like there wasn’t currently powder residue under his fingers, “I was getting restless so we switched. You should see him on standard. The struggle. So, you decide yet?”

       He took awhile to comprehend with his mind still clouded by sleep and sun. Then, the upcoming highway signs spilled into focus:

**1 Mile Ahead: I-80W or CA-20**

       Convenient how they reached Sacramento after he awoken. He huffed and stared at the signs as they grew closer and closer. They talked about this in Colorado, whether to keep driving on I-80, headed towards Sacramento and his parents or turn for 20, straight for Stiles and the pack.

      “Time’s a ticking,” Ade said, then whistled the Jeopardy theme song, which needled at the back of his brain, taunting him until he shouted a direction. They jerked into the left lane, cutting off a caravan in the process. The man flicked them off while TJ, who was barely controlling Ade's ancient GMC in the first place, called with insults Jackson didn't even understand. And, he knew a myriad of insults. By the time their laughing subsided, he'd completely forgot they were headed towards his parents' firm.

     Half a mile from the exit, he felt the warmth of Ade's creepy smile hitting the side of his face.

      "Stop that," he squirmed in his chair, dodging Ade's fingers as he tried to pinch his cheeks. 

      "But Stiles will be so proud."

      He had to work twice as hard to maintain his nonchalance. "Stiles can kiss my ass."

       "All in due time, my brother."  Jackson groaned, angling his body towards the window. "Sooooo...what'd you plan anyway? Romantic dinner? Moonlit walk? Hot rendezvous in an empty parking lot? I know you two like your cutesy bullshit."

      "Sleep. Jealousy looks great on you by the way," Jackson said, though now Ade planted the idea in his mind. They didn't need to do any of the stuff, right? Plus, Beacon Hills Prom was on Saturday. Three hours shopping for tuxes with his aunt and Jessie was torturing enough. 

      "I won't be the one sleeping alone. Left or right?" 

      He glanced at the encroaching exit, neither the Home Depot or the Chevron gas station looked familiar. "Who said I'm sleeping alone?" 

      "Your attitude. I have a sense for these things."

      "A sense for getting us lost is what you have. Pull over," Jackson teased, swapping seats with him at the gas station. Once he found a familiar road, he drove through the city without directions—averting his eyes when they passed State Capitol and staring too long at the place that held at least some positive memories.

      Five minutes away, he almost stopped to freshen up, but decided against it. Glancing at the reddened brick then at each other, he and Ade sighed before hopping out, bringing Percy with them. 

      TJ waited for them at the door, somehow cleaner and more put together than the two of them combined. How? He did not know and probably never would. Holding tight to the leash, Jackson ignored the prickling under his skin and stepped through the electronic door. His mom’s practice hadn’t changed a bit, the eggshell-white wall greeting them with its red and black insignia, **Whittemore, Wolfe & Randall. **The place still smelled like coffee and freshly shredded paper.

      The assistant, someone new, peered up from his computer when the door signaled their arrival. Upon seeing them, he immediately logged out of his computer. 

      “Good morning, Welcome to-” his voice trailed behind him when Jackson stalked past his desk. "Sir. Sir? Sir, do you have an appointment?!"

      So, his reputation hadn't preceded him.  _Too bad._ Jackson listened in to TJ politely explaining the reason for their visit as he set Percy loose in the outside courtyard. 

     "My apologies, Mr. Whittemore. I'll take you on back," the assistant said, holding the door open for him with quivering hands, his neck veins growing more prominent with every step Jackson took towards him. He inhaled the man's anxiety, feeling more like himself already. 

    TJ needled him in the side when they passed the water cooler, "Spotted in his natural habitat: Jackson Whittemore frightening the little people." 

    He cracked a smile, especially when the assistant overheard and tripped over a trash can, barely stopping his face from meeting the carpet. Jackson choked on his laughter, since he kind of needed to make a better effort with "his parents." At least, that's what his aunt lectured him to do before he left.

     He stopped the flow of traffic at makeshift cubicle nearest the copy room. The miniature cubicle was ordinary in every way—fabric wall, chair, desk, computer—but Stiles's scent draped all of it. Behind him, TJ whispered Stiles's name, commencing a pair of dramatic eye rolls. He flicked them off discreetly, taking a step closer into Stiles's space. 

    Jackson ran a hand over Stiles's wall of photos, each one tacked with a red push pin. Pictures of his parents and old friends sprinkled in between photos of him and the pack. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of photos featuring him: their wedding reception photo, the one where they piled on Derek's couch, them posing in the Porsche, and the one of them on stage at the festival. With the stage lights blinding, you could barely see their silhouettes.

     The rest he'd taken with the pack. Even, Derek produced an almost smile in a few.

     Jackson lingered on those, their easy smiles and frozen laughter. The reminder of their closeness tightened his stomach. They never went to the lake or camping when he was here. The one time Derek forced pack bonding, Lydia made him carry her halfway up a mountain and Erica pushed him in a rose bush, then stole his sandwich. The second he decided to leave this shit-fest, they were suddenly taking trips? He scowled at  _another_ photo of Erica perched on Stiles's lap, this one in a movie theater with a pack of Twizzlers being shared between them.  

      "Oh my god," Ade gasped in his ear, pushing at him to get a better look over his shoulders. "Look at his hair," Ade tugged TJ by the arm and pointed at his haircut in the Porsche photo.

      "What is that? A bottle a day?" TJ flicked his currently gel-free hair, though it was greasy enough to lay slick on its own. Noticing his lack of response, they shifted focus to the one's he trained on. 

     "The blonde one." TJ jerked his head to the movie theater picture. "I thought we liked her?"

    Before he could answer, the assistant peeked his head in. They built cubicles this size for a reason. "Oh there you are," the man paused, peering around at the wall's contents, the stack of files already piling on the desk. "You know Stiles? He's not due until around four, but you can leave a message...if you want." A subtle grin crept through his professionalism when he asked, the first sign of life they'd seen from this man today. Jackson bristled at this random guy, knowing Stiles, his Stiles. They probably chatted when Stiles bumbled into work, engaging in small talk until his dad inevitably reminded him of the reason he received a paycheck. 

      Weaving around him, Jackson stalked towards his parents' section of the building. He only took seven steps when reached one-half of them in the conference room, a handful of junior assistants hanging off of his every syllable.

 _"Mr.Feldwine needs that faxed before two. Have Stiles do a follow-up when he arrives."_ Now, they were on first name basis? Jackson snorted. A few months ago the man ranted on and on about the obnoxious kid who turned their son gay. He knocked against the glass twice, but only as a courtesy. 

     "Jackson," he stood mid-sentence, facing the three of them as the air around the room shifted. His employees dismissed themselves, shooting both them and him confused nods. Really, he should have felt bothered that the new employees had no recollection of him. Why would they when he clearly didn't exist? 

      His dad smoothed a hand down his gray three-piece suit, plastering on his politician grin. He reeked of masked frustration. "Welcome. I'm David Whittemore, Jackson's father," he said, bypassing him for TJ, who gripped his hand, tight enough his father's scent signed from pain. "Firm handshake you got there." 

     "Thank you, sir. Learned everything I know from my mom. She's a force,"  TJ winked at him over his dad's head. His cousin’s stilted grimace reminded him that while he was seeing his dad/uncle again, Ade was meeting him for the very first time.

     “Reyna’s son. Adrien right?” his voice lilted in a quasi-friendly tone, one he reserved special for constituents, reporters, and waiters. Seconds passed with the projector's hum as the only sound in the room. He and TJ exchanged glimpses, non-verbally planning an escape route if Adrien's temper made an unexpected appearance. Nonetheless, his dad's smile grew wider until finally Ade accepted his handshake cautiously. "Right...well, you must be hungry. Sit. Sit," he ushered them to the table, clearing away his spray of folders and briefs. 

     Jackson lowered into the chair closest to him when a platter of fruit and tiny muffins materialized in front of them. Another associate handed him orange juice and water, all while accepting his mumbled 'thank you.'

     “So, how was the drive?”

     “Long,” Jackson grunted, picking at his blueberry muffin. Both he and Ade glared at TJ, the cause of their thirty-six hour detour.

     “-And informational. Did you know a town in Wyoming doesn’t allow its citizens to shower on Wednesday?”

    “The man told you people shower,” Ade bit back, commencing a much-more subdued version of their typical spats. Jackson welcomed the distraction. With his dad trying to follow with their back and forth—rookie mistake—Jackson slipped out the door. His mom muted her conference call the moment he opened her door, getting up and squeezing him tight. 

    "Did you just get in? You look exhausted," she held him at arm's length, smoothing her thumbs over the bags in his eyes. He batted at her hands, because he wasn't ready to admit he missed the alternative. "You should get some sleep."

     "We're meeting Derek and Danny at one," he said, leaning against the corner of her desk. Warm nostalgia filled him in a way that it hadn't in years. Of when he was the chair's height and still carrying around that soiled Hot Wheels coloring book, his legs dangling above the floor, red marker dragging from his book to her forms. At that age, trouble meant attention. Flipping through her contact book, he asked, "How're things?"

    "Good. Good. Stressful but good. I'm glad you're back though," She filled him in on the major things, stopping every once and awhile to signal her presence on the call. In turn, he offered the more appropriate stories of his time away.

     He hadn't noticed the time until Ade stuck his head in. "Jacks, twelve-fifteen. Oh, sorry Mrs. W. I thought he was on the phone," he nodded at his mom, grinning almost nervously. 

    "Adrien, nice to see you again, in person this time," his mom offered Ade a light hug, much to his confusion. "We've ran into each other on Skype a few times." He refused to let her obvious history with  _his_ family get to him. Things were good. They were good. "The second you unload, I expect you two to get some sleep." 

    "No can do," Ade shook his head. "I have to pick up my key before six."

    "Reyna did tell me you decided on Berkeley. Moving in already?"

    "Turns out rent is cheaper when you lease while they're losing hossies." 

      Jackson shook his head side to side, in an effort to hide his smile. "He just doesn't want anyone knowing about his special nerd program." 

     "It's called Summer Bridge and it doesn't start for another month, thank you very much," he joked, flinging a rubber band at his leg. Jackson flung it back; he would have nailed him in the neck if Ade hadn’t ducked, sending the yellow band into the door. Together, they cracked matching smiles, dimming them when the horror of their surroundings struck in. Grunting, he crossed his arms, pivoting to find his mom looking at them…warmly. 

     “Well, I hope you'll join us for dinner sometime. New places can be daunting and quite boring at times."

     "Thanks, but really, don't stress your head about me. I don't imagine myself getting bored this summer. Speaking of, we should head out—I escaped around the time he was boring the old man with giant balls and chicken feet.” 

     "Yeah ok," Jackson hesitated, but smacked a kiss on his mom's cheek, even though she followed them out. Just as he'd done for his dad, TJ charmed his mother within two minutes of developing her into a hug. All his compliments and questions about the firm made them look bad, so they drug him away by the collar, stopping long enough for Jackson to promise dinner tonight and collect his hyperactive dog.

      In city traffic, they didn't reach Beacon Hills until 1:25. Jackson wove through the streets on autopilot, categorizing all the subtle changes since he'd fully lived here. The "Y" on the _Grocery Outlet_ sign still flickered like it cost more to change a little bulb than to run an entire business. Three or four police cars still congregated outside  _Wanda's Cafe_ , engaging in more eating than patrolling. Even the same group of half-baked skater kids were cutting class at the park near his house, just as they'd always done. Separately, these coincidences meant nothing, but together they filled his cheeks with normal. He'd pulled into his driveway and shut off the truck when Ade blinked up at his house. 

       "This is your new place?"

      Muscle memory led him right in the opposite direction.  _Great,_ Jackson flipped the ignition. The rumbling vibration soothed him.  "No, my house." 

      Ade snapped a picture. An actual picture of his medium-sized three story house. The steps had grayed some in the last few months, plus weeds were now brushing the walls' edges. If they could talk, they'd gossip about how the dreaded Whittemore hadn't cut their grass in at least two months. "You lived there? It was so fancy," 

      Jackson side-glanced him, "You lived in a gated mansion." 

      "Yeah...in the country. It don't count." 

      He snorted, "Stop talking."

     Standing side by side, the three of them peered at the eleven stories tall building. Two girls, maybe post-college age, sped their pace when they'd spotted them lingering. Given the layers of grime on their skin, Jackson didn't blame them.

     Ade's low whistle especially didn't help, "Look at this baby." He smooth his palm over the hood of a gray Porsche, a very familiar one at that. He winced as his cousin peeked inside, cheeks and hands smudging the glass. "Fuck, I'd whore it up with this baby any day  _with_ the driver inside." 

     "For the sake of our emotional sanity, l'm pretending you didn't say that," he smacked a hand on Ade's back, snickering when a violent shiver swept through him. 

     "Oh gross. Backsies."

     "That's what I thought." He could already feel Derek's eyes burning the top of their heads, radiating a mixture of irritation and anticipation. After fifteen flights of steps, they finally reached the top landing, where Derek waited, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. 

     "There was an elevator," he said, his dry gaze shooting between them and a small metal contraption in front of the front door. Ade collapsed on the step under his, heaving and wheezing on Jackson's ankle. Hell, if he weren't a werewolf surrounded by two other werewolves, he would have joined him. 

     "You could've told us that before." 

     "I would've, if you'd have gotten here on time." They traded scowls, an unspoken battle to see who could out last the other. A tradition they started when he stopped running terrified of him. 

     "Dork," Jackson slugged him on the shoulder, giving Derek the opportunity to force him into a loose hug. Tension leaked from his pores at the six seconds of contact and when he pulled away, he could almost characterized Derek's crinkled eyes and straight mouth as a smile. A Derek smile.

     "Where's Danny?" Jackson glanced around him, expecting his best friend to be hiding behind the wall of pure Alpha, as he'd whispered while waggling his brows.

     "He went back to school. You're-."

      "Late. Yeah, yeah, I know." Frowning, he followed Derek inside his new apartment, where he was to live...with Isaac. His parents took Derek's dark, desolate dungeon and transformed it into a  _PB Teen_ catalog. They added exposed red brick walls and navy door. He snuck glances at Derek to gauge his reaction, noting the tension in his shoulders. Somehow, he didn't think the lacrosse mural on the far wall had anything to do with it. Instinctively, his eyes pulled to the wall of windows. He could still see the alpha pack's symbol melting streaks of black. 

      Jackson pushed past him, "I've got eyes, Derek. I don't need yours too."  

     Derek opened his mouth twice, each time snapping it shut until he nodded. "Fine. Don't ruin the place on your first night and you have neighbors. Act like it!" 

     “No promises. Later.”

     “Come by tomorrow, after you get some sleep...and shower,” he added, wiggling his nose. Jackson flicked off his quivering shoulders as Derek ascended the steps and slid the front door into place. Jackson pretended not to hear the relief in his voice. 

     "He seems nice," Ade blurted in the silence.

     Running his hands along the 42' flatscreen, he laughed. "Yeah, until you piss him off."

     "Somehow, it doesn't surprise me that you're not the 'werewolves are your friendly neighborhood watch' kind of people." 

     "We do things different here." Just to play with him, he bled vibrant blue into his eyes and snorted at the urge of energy rippling around the room. "Can you be excited with the boxes? I'll be down in a minute."

     "Get best friend over here!" 

     "Behave and I might!"

     With the prospect of seeing Stiles on the horizon, Ade drug TJ downstairs, leaving him to explore.  He'd call him eventually, anyway. Everyone else spent time with him; now, it was his turn. He just didn't want to smell like hand sanitizer and powdered donuts when they did it. 

      Jackson slid his finger against soft leather while he circumvented the airy living room. The pack's scent lingered enough for him to know Isaac'd already moved in. Plus, he'd left his Geology textbook open on the coffee table, a collection of empty Doritos bags next to it. 

      Five months ago, he had the ability to pick out their individual scents, but he'd replaced their scents with his family and TJ's Polo musk. He stopped trying after a few minutes. Stiles, though, hadn't been here for sure. Or, if he had, he'd only visited once (maybe twice if he stood in the middle of the room and resisted the urge to touch everything, which was unlike him in every regard.) 

      He stepped to the wide windows, peering out across the town. From here, they could see everything—the town square, the school, the open field where he'd used to wind up pissed drunk every time. Unfortunately, he could also see his cousin and friend making out against the uHaul like they were middle-aged men in the back alley of a club. Thoroughly disgusted and scarred for life, he continued his tour into the kitchen. 

     Staring at the gray cabinets, he made a note to go grocery shopping since Isaac had only leftover Chinese and an half package of brown sugar bacon.

     He stole a dumpling and turned down a new extension to Derek's old layout. The bare hallway rounded into a room that was 60% bed, 20% bookshelves and desks, 10% floor space, and 10% entertainment system, complete with a wall-mounted TV plus cabinet space to put his consoles. Lack of windows aside, he stood in his old room. Kicking off his shoes, he trudged to his bedside table, where someone left a card with his name scratched on it. 

 

 **We had sex in your bed. JK. Only a little bit. JK. Lol you'll never know. Text if you need help moving in or something. Almost excited to see you. -** **Isaac**

_NO WE DIDN'T! HE'S LYING!  -Scott_

**Stop ruining our bonding moment, McCall. -Isaac, again**

 

     Shaking his head, he felt his mouth pull into a smile in spite of himself. Behind him, he heard the door squeal, boxes sliding across the hardwood, and the pitter-patter of paws. Jackson debated his old bed or his many boxes. The former won. Relief eased his muscles at first contact, Percy jumping on the bed shortly after. With his dog resting against his thigh, the rest of the room blurred around him. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine Stiles laid out right next to them.

      A kick to the shoulder startled him from sleep...well, he didn't really know the time. His head thrummed, matching the rhythm of his whirling ceiling fan. Since the hallway's natural light fell to shadows, he assumed late enough. 

      "Yo, I know you're awake," a gravely male voice said. Not raspy enough for Ade, but too low for TJ. His brain took a while to classify the tremor as Isaac. Jackson felt the wind near his shoulder kick up again. Without opening his eyes, he blocked his knee from hitting him once more. "You're missing your dinner thing." 

 _Dinner? Dinner!_ He sprung forward, which didn't help his splintering headache at all. Cradling his head, he closed his eyes, breathing away the pain. Eventually, the grogginess evaporated enough for him to make out objects in the darkness. Boxes upon boxes packed around his bed, actually separated into categories. They really did love him; he knew it. 

     "I don't know what's going on here, but can you do it in the bathroom? Your dad keeps calling you." Isaac said, his teeth glinting off his phone light. Smacking his face against the mattress, he used the momentum to push himself up. "Sure! Happy to see you too roommate. I'm so grateful you entertained my guests while I decided to take a leisure nap." 

      He pouted, "I don't talk like that."

     "No, you're worse. There's some clothes there and shoes there. You can thank me by letting us borrow your wheels tomorrow. Miss McCall works late," Isaac propped himself against his headboard, kicking his sock-less feet on the comforter. 

     Grabbing the clothes Isaac set out for him, Jackson stumbled to his attached bathroom, waving him off. "Take the Porsche," he shouted over the faucet. "You can have it. I think I saw keys on the desk." That seemed to shut him up for as long as it took to sluggishly throw on clothes, rinse his mouth, and slap some gel in his hair. 

     The moment he opened the door, Isaac trailed after him, astonished puppy face activated. Clearly, encouraging him to move on McCall was a piss-poor decision. In the kitchen, with Isaac still on his heels, Jackson perused the fridge's content again, finding actual food this time. (If you counted pizza and beer as groceries, which he did.)

     "Your dad'll be piss." 

     "I do what I want. TJ and Ade?" he asked, mouthful of cheese and starch. 

     Isaac shrugged, "They left with Allison and Lydia couple hours ago, but they left you this-" His words trailed in a hunt through his pockets, extracting everything but paper. Pens, gum, keys, a lighter. Jackson didn't question it, mostly because he didn't care. No matter the contents off the note, they still left without saying goodbye and with Lydia, no less.

     Jackson threw back someone's opened Bud light, reveling in the cool fizzle. "Whatever, I'm out." he stole another swig, slamming it on the counter. "Don't wait up loser." 

     Behind him, Isaac yelled, “I won’t even be here ha!” He managed to flip him off just as the door slid into place, Isaac's light chuckling in his wake. Maybe if he drove slowly, they'd grow impatient and leave. Fingers crossed, he screened another call from his dad and strolled down nineteen flights of stairs.  

* * *

      Stiles never understood why clients were always chronically late. Did a rule book magically drop from the vents on their first day in a corner office?  _Article 1: Bylaw 23: Section 'E' states that all company representatives must arrive at least thirty minutes late to every dinner meeting. A sign of power and douchebaggery._ Stiles would destroy all those books, even the eBook format (and he considered himself a huge proponent of the publishing industry.) 

    Five minutes, he could manage. Even ten, since he'd arrived exactly seven minutes after eight o'clock himself. Although tonight, Mr. Whittemore told him to order anything he'd like, instead of giving him the 'lawyers should be punctual' lecture.

    That happened forty minutes ago.  _Forty minutes!_ And as of three minutes ago, he'd weighed the pros and cons of every entree in the leather-bound menu, vegan options included. 

    Stiles had plans tonight, plans involving the Mint Oreos hidden in his closet, the fourth season of Suits, and the prospect of bothering Jackson on the road. Very important, non-internship related plans. A serving tray cuffed him on the head _again_ , much to the oblivion on the Whittemores. He settled for scooting another few centimeters towards the table and glaring at the server, a girl he had AP Calc with not even eight hours earlier.  

    The girl grimaced back, then disappeared behind the half wall into the kitchen. Maybe she heard Lydia tear apart her answer on the board, from her decimal point, right down to her poor handwriting. He'd have texted Lydia, but no one broke the cellphone rule unless his or her last name appeared in the letterhead. So, he sat there, drumming his fingers under the table with one hand. When Mr. Whittemore gave him _the look_ five minutes later, he stopped that too.  

    How rich was this client? Maybe they were coming from LA or the moon—a body thudded into the seat next to him. His cheeks stretched when he recognized the familar shirt. A caricature artist could have drawn his face true to scale. That same smile ebbed as Stiles noticed his disposition. 

    Slumping back against the chair, Jackson riffled through the menu, not making eye contact with him or his parents once. He glanced to Mr. Whittemore, hoping he'd offer an explanation. After all, ninety percent of Jackson's attitude originated with the man in some way. Mr. Whittemore was too busy glowering at Jackson's head, but Mrs. Whittemore gave him a reassuring smile, despite the confusion darkening her blushed cheeks.

    No one said anything, so he stepped up. 

    "Hey," he nudged his foot against Jackson's calf. His foot seemed to register in Jackson's mind first because he scowled at the tablecloth, but he saw the moment his voice pinged recognition in Jackson's mind.  

    Jackson shifted his head towards him, his shoulders loosening some of their tension.  _Business dinner. Business dinner. Business dinner._ He had to repeat to control his smile, especially as Jackson's lips eased into a small fraction of his natural smile. Even if he did angle his body away as if Stiles actually cared how he smelled. He felt Jackson’s walls lifting, enough space for him to crawl under and see the real Jackson underneath. No stress. No frustration. Only the dark shadows of exhaustion.

     His hands itched to reach out. A month ago, he would have, parents be damned, but, Stiles held back. Mr. Whittemore was his boss now and the last time he saw them together, Jackson moved away for five months, whether he made the choice or not. 

     "What are you doing here?" Jackson asked, a slight rumble to his normally-smoothed tone. 

      "Eating dinner with my bosses-and you apparently. What are  _you_ doing here?" he winced at his own tone. Of course Jackson would be here, eating dinner with his parents and enjoying the good ole Beacon.

      A shadow flew over his face, slamming the walls in place once again. Before he could defend his words, Jackson grumbled, flipping the beverage page of his menu with enough force, the cloth edges tore. Another tray zinged him in the head and regardless of how he almost sliced the server girl's head off, that tray felt like a metaphor for this entire evening. They hadn't even ordered drinks yet. 

      Minutes past. Drinks came. He ordered the Carbonara with Asparagus and Jackson was still ignoring his attempts at a conversation, or at least apologizing. Suddenly that conversation he had on the phone with Danny some months ago spiraled to the forefront of his mind.

      Jackson wouldn’t even look at him and that included the times Stiles wasn’t looking himself. He always kept one eye trained, just in case. Running out of options, he broke Mr.Whittemore’s only rule, no cell phones. Without peering down once, he opened his last text message conversation and typed,  _what'd you do 2 my boyfriend?_ _  
_

     Faking his attention, he attentively glanced back and forth between Jackson’s parents, chuckling at their story’s funny parts and otherwise being the perfect intern. Until his phone hummed in his palm.

     N **othing? T in P?**

_Paradise packed its bags_

**He was chill earlier. Good luck**

     This was all because his big mouth, then? Or, maybe a combination between him and his parents, since Jackson half-grunted answers to them too. If only he could blame the full moon, a few days off. Stiles slumped in his chair, frowning at the light stubble curving around Jackson's jaw. 

      "So," Mr. Whittemore started when their server clicked his pen and sauntered his pen. Stiles exhaled an irritated huff, "We're under no illusion that you two aren't an item, if you want to-" he gestured between them his glass of wine, the pained wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent with his eyebrow raise. "We'll happily send our regards to the chef."

     "I think we can sit through one dinner," Stiles forced a laugh, hiding his nose flare behind his tea. He'd rather join the circus, loose all his appendages sneaking into the tigers' cage, and _then_ perish by tightrope than be stuck with a vengeful, uncooperative Jackson. 

     Mrs. Whittemore reached over to pat his hand, "We were teenagers once too, Stiles." She spread her smile between the two of them, actively ignoring their angling bodies. His skin blazed around the spot where she'd rubbed her thumb from Jackson's heated gaze. "We know hormones and urges well." 

     He choked, water spurting back into his glass, some of it landing around his plate. No one seemed to care about his scramble for more rolled silverware.  

     "How was the drive?" Stiles kicked him under the table, begging for something, anything...but a grunt. He'd breathed through his nose, trying not to lose his patience, despite the pile of plucked shirt strings by his chair.

      "Hun, Stiles is doing some great work at the office. Everyone loves him."

     Mrs. Whittemore's compliment caught him off guard, considering she only acknowledged him if she happened to strut by in a frenzy, throwing a quick 'keep it up' at his general direction. Something told him, she said it more for Jackson's benefit than his. Every few seconds, she gauged her son's reaction. Whether she hoped to see wasn't there. Stiles, on the other hand, felt his cheeks redden. "Thanks, Mrs. Whittemore. It's fun stuff."

    "You have an affinity, for sure. Are you still looking into Library Science?"

    He felt Jackson twitched in his peripheral, the way his fist tightened around the tablecloth. He scrambled for an answer. 

    "What she mean is 'can she persuade you into Pre-Law?" Mr. Whittemore interjected while signaling the waiter. "We have some excellent contacts if you're researching programs. I'd suggest looking at-"

     A screech filled the air, causing them and a few other parties to jolt. Stiles gawked at the empty chair to his right, following the trail of space all the way to Jackson's retreating back, cutting through the tables and dodging around waiters. 

     "Uh," he whipped back and forth between Jackson and his parents. Torn between the two, he tossed his napkin on the table, "Excuse us." He heard a iPhone camera shutter as he steer cleared of the tables with food, careful not to ruin someone else's night (and food). 

     Muggy warmth blanketed him when he pushed outside, the moisture from this afternoon's rain shower still evident in the air. He broke out into a run to catch him before he reached his truck. His only pair of work shoes pattered through the puddles, wetting his pant's cuffs in the process. “Jackson!” he shouted when his werewolf legs reached the back of the parking lot. 

     "Go back inside," Jackson kept his back to him. At least, he'd stopped advancing, which gave Stiles an excuse to slow his sprint to a brisk walk. The tremor in Jackson's shoulders, though, forced him to a halt. Human or not, he was smart enough to read basic cues. 

     Stiles toed closer, close enough to hear his abrupt breathing.   

     Running his hands through his hair, Jackson paced the length of his truck, keeping his head shielded in the shadows. Stiles glared, crossing his arms. All of this couldn't have spiraled from one stupid comment.  "Dammit, Stiles. Leave!" 

     "No," he cemented his feet to the ground. "You're being an ass. Why?" 

     Jackson swung on his heels, facing him for the first time, his eyes scorching blue. They moved so fast, his body hadn't registered the movement until his back collided with aluminum, hard enough to leave one hell of a bruise.

     His own voice tripled in volume, "Cut the shit dude," he pushed back. "I'm not the one who lied to you. They kicked you out. They pushed you off on strangers. Not me!" 

      "No, you just stole my life when they did. You want my room too?" Jackson sneered, the muscle staring in his neck. Stiles stunned silent; his glare fell at the insult. He tilted his head to the abyss above him.

      "I-" he stuttered, "What?" 

      "Dinner. Recommendations. Compliments. It's like you're...all over again." Neither of them said it, yet they both knew.

       Slack-jawed, Stiles fought to keep his voice steady. "Jacks, you left. What was I supposed to do? Wait by the door until you came back? I didn't even know you _were back_. They told me it was a client dinner."

      "So, I'm a client now!" his outburst shot through Stiles's blood, the acrid scent of cheap beer on his breath. Stiles rolled his eyes, figures this started before he got here. He could feel eyes on them. Jackson boxed him in, gripping his shoulder as the tire bumper dug deeper into his back.

     Stiles hissed, breathing through the pangs since the alternative was causing more attention. 

      "You need to calm down," he muttered, reaching out but stopping midair at the low growl. "People are staring." The grip on his shoulder tightened, a hint of sharp nails puncturing his shirt. "Fuckkk...that hurts." Stiles bucked past him, feeling a slow trickle down his shoulder blades.

      Wiping the blood on his black pants, Stiles held back his balled fist. Even he wasn't impulsive enough to pick a fight with a supernatural creature. “I’m not your problem, so whatever it is, fix it,” he stopped halfway from the front door, "Don't call me until you do." Stiles let the power AC blow away the drops of moisture threatening the corners of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie. I'm a little emotional right now. But, it's happening! Only one more part left. Thank you for every wave of encouragement whether spoken or unspoken. It's seriously been helping me pull through to the very end. I really hope you liked this chapter. I know its a huge difference from the previous ones. All the hugs, 
> 
> Minna =]


	26. Unfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (First update of two-part finale)

Jackson’s ribs cracked as he rounded a hard left, putting him on yet another unfamiliar street. He burst into a thicker sprint, bypassing bungalow upon bungalow where moms and dads corralled their stubby children towards fuel-efficient vehicles. How dare they look blissful this early in the morning, completely unfazed by screaming children while he breathed like someone took a bat to his abdomen.

The father of the current family, raised a neighborly hand his way, but he ignored it, pounding harder on the cracking pavement. Learning his lesson, he trained his eyes forward, entertaining himself with chirps, rustling trees, hum of power lines, and the crit-clack, crit-clack of Percy’s paws. About an hour ago, he tried music, but shuffle decided to play every song Stiles ever gave him. Seeing as the point of the last twenty-something hours was to forget, he'd ditched his headphones some miles back.

The blur of houses shifted into the blur of neighborhoods, each one growing quieter as buses headed for yet another day of school. Without the morning hustle, the concrete under his feet transformed into gravel and the thin, naked excuse for trees into lush Bluegrass branches with technicolor leaves. Not that the solitude lasted long. Another runner brought up his rear, but the careless sway of her hips didn't immediately ping danger. More like middle-aged mom, maintaining her fleeting athletic body. Those types usually pranced by him, in their skin-tight yoga pants, with nothing more than an "on your left" tossed in his direction.

Ignoring the tingle under his skin, he pushed on, hoping she'd just pass him already. She never did. Then, rocks started scraping the backs of his ankles, a few settling into the sliver of space between his sock and his shoe. He coupled that with the heated gaze now searing into his back.

Only one girl would stalk him for a mile and kick rubble in his shoes. Not in the mood for her shit, he cut through lawns, weaving in and out of streets until Percy started pulling on his leash in the middle of some park. Besides the eerie creak of swaying swings, silence embraced them. It was silence he could grow used to around here. No bitchy packmates or irritating roommates throwing water on his sleeping body or loud ex-girlfriends or nosy classmates...or anyone else.

Just him, his dog, and natur--he choked on those thoughts as his skull slammed into the ground.

"Think you could get away with it!" Erica yelled, but his eyes spotted black, masking everything besides flashes of blond hair. "Piece of shit," her shoe ripped into his side, just as a wetness splattered his cheek. Did she just...he sneered. In all honesty, he deserved that, but honesty could go fuck itself. He wiped off her spit and although, his vision spotted black and red, the steady rise and fall of his chest quickening, he couldn’t force himself to retaliate. Not that he needed to; all too late the ringing his ears subsided to snarls.

"F off, mutt," she hissed, then Percy released only a low whimper. "That's enough, get up."

She didn't give him a chance to move on his own, yanking hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. If his muscles were spasming from the constant moving, Erica's blows didn't ease the pain.

"What's wrong with you," her hand whopped his ear, creating yet another long few seconds of ringing. What good was werewolf abilities if they didn't ward off crazies like Erica? "Stiles is legit the only thing you have going for you."

A little part of him, sitting in the forefront of his consciousness railed along with her. What was he if not with Stiles? Obviously, that packed like him more now and his cousin had yet to answer his texts either. Stiles probably got to him too.

"Would you stop--" she expounded a loud sigh, like awarding him an ounce of credit would turn her spit right back around."That's not true, but I'm pissed, so its true until I'm not. You did a shitty thing."

"Yeah," he actually agreed with her. That cold day in hell finally came. They squared off, glaring at one another since neither of them knew what to say or do with the guilt now running ten times faster through his veins.

"He spent all yesterday more worried about you than planning your goddamn funeral, so if you don't start acting like the Hallmark-worthy boyfriend you are real soon, I will...will..."

"...Kill me?"

"Drown you in the pool of blood I squeezed from the tip of your tiny dick."

He coughed, _yep, that sounded painful,_ the drowning, the dick-squeezing, all of it. His hands fell to his zipper, evoking that crazed-eyed beam of hers.

"Just do it," she fluffed her hair, spinning on her heels, "And not when you feel like it, today! He's too cool to be a loser at prom." He didn't want to think about tomorrow right now. Returning to her light jog, she disappeared as silent as she came, heading back in the direction of the school. To avoid resembling every bit the idiot he felt, Jackson whistled, reattached Percy to his leash, and headed off in the opposite direction. His phone blitzed against his arm, alerting him to a stream of messages, his first since he'd blown into town two days ago.

**Fair warning derek's on the prowl.**

**But its not all shitty they didn't kill you over there**

**Do it!!!!!!**

A twinge of warmth needled its way into his bloodstream, but the thought of an angry Derek, storming around town looking for him, shriveled it right up. No continent, village, or island was safe from a vengeful Derek. Their conversation stuck to him like the phantom spat of her saliva clinging to his skin. A mixture of his feet and Percy's sniffing carried him across streets and perfectly mowed lawns as her words seized his brain.

Why in the hell would Stiles worry about him? He...he...well, he knew what he did, no need to rehash the details. And, afterward, he'd driven to that overly-decorated loft fully expecting never to have contact with him (or anyone associated) with him again. Maybe not the most realistic thought that late at night, but he'd eaten himself into a pizza coma and watched enough Italian Mafia movies to lose enough brain cells. Yesterday, he recommenced the cycle several times, even after Isaac physically drug him to the shower.

He cracked his neck; sweating was a much better plan. "Think you got another five miles in you?" he asked the only living being forever on his side. He accepted the echoing bark as a very loud and enthusiastic yes. An old puke green Lincoln guzzled past them, cutting the curb, its horn blasting as they jumped away from the tires. Flicking the driver off, he glared at the familiar bumper.

Mr. Hendrix. They weren't neighbors anymore and yet, the grumpy geezer still plotted his murder. His eyes drifted to the house nearest him, a blue roof with molded window panes. The same ugly house he watched through his bedroom window, only now, he couldn't see silhouettes in the darkening nights.

Old images—flashes of blood and crunching bones—assaulted his eyes, making him stumble back from the property line. He swiveled around to an even bigger nightmare, his house.

The incline of their driveway called to him and he toed closer, still noting the uneven grass. Pretty soon, the ladies in the Association would start leaving helpful little notes.

_Dear Residence, we have the perfect referral if  
you're searching for new lawn care. Let us know. _

_XO, the HOA._

He snorted, maybe he should tip them off himself. No heartbeats thrummed over the tick of the sprinklers preparing for their daily shower. At the risk of running into more neighbors, he jiggled the side gate until the latch surrendered like usual. As if they never left, the pup skirted the gate's edges, digging holes into the ground with every leap. He, himself, labored up the deck steps and lowered down with a twitch.

Despite the stiffness in his thighs, delicious release flowed from his feet to the wooden planks. He flipped his phone between his palms, watching as his lock-screen background flickered on and off. At first, he hated this photo, the way his eyes glinted in the club's strobe lights, the patch of sweat soaking his shirt, and the chick behind Stiles obviously objectifying his ass.

Even still, he hadn't dare change the monstrosity until now...the 'are you sure' prompt box waiting for him to respond. A creak of the back door answered for him. Standing, he let the screen timeout.

"Thought I heard barking out here," his father said, holding a coffee in one hand and a Gatorade in the other. With no viable escape available and Percy sniffing the man's crotch,Jackson sighed, plopping back down on the steps. Country life softened them both, these days Percy didn't know an enemy from a friend. "This seat taken?"

Jackson rolled his eyes, accepting the outstretched drink. He's surprised the man braved his designer pants to dirty, unswept steps. Silence swirled around them, not quite awkward enough to interest Percy again, but still unsettling. He kicked at the chipping wood, focusing on the covered Jacuzzi to their left. Every few seconds, his father sipped his coffee, then cleared his throat as if the concoction needed extra assistance to go down. He could taste the alacrity from here, burning the tips of tongue without taste. Obviously, the _“I-like-my-coffee-the-color-of-my-soul”_ obsession skipped him.

He wondered if his birth father was the same or if he possessed Jackson's dedication to three teaspoons sugar and two splashes Irish Crème too. Suffocating his hands under his thighs, he realized this was really the first time he'd thought of them since he'd left Beacon Hills. In that moment, the possibility, the answer seemed more important the solution to World Famine.

"How did my dad..." he rephrased, spotting the subtle tightening of his father's jaw, "my real dad like coffee?"

That wasn't any better, judging by his father's pinched mouth. He didn't think he'd get an answer, not one that didn't end in a snide remark, at least. "Rick preferred tea, black, if I remember correctly."

Tea. _Huh,_ a smile weathered his cheeks. Technically,still black as the man's ephemeral soul though, so Jackson was just unique then. He'd accept that. "Will you take me sometime?" he asked yet another question, shocking them both. "Their grave," he clarified. "I want to see it."

"We'd have to go home for that, but I'm sure we can work through the details."

Jackson side-glanced him. Weren't they already home, in the house they'd bought for him to grow and flourish in? Somehow, another unveiled secret didn't bother (or surprise) him. "Where's home?" he'd almost regret asking, but still kept an ear to the rhythm of his heart.

"Did you think Reyn...your aunt built that place herself? Generations of Whittemore."

The only thing he'd heard was that same creepy graveyard he passed on his morning runs held the tombstones of his biological parents and no one thought to inform them. _Fucking family._ "I thought Whittemores were lawyers and doctors and senators," he imitated his dad's lofty grumble from the countless times he'd heard the same speech, one of privilege and upstanding nobility. Nowhere in those, 'you're destined for the same greatness' speeches held anything about farmers and horse trainers.

"The ones worth remembering were."

"That's..." he couldn't place into words everything wrong with that statement, deciding to ignore it altogether. "Wait—you're from Kentucky? You!" his shoulders quaked at the mere thought. Nothing like Karma to brighten your day, his head reeled, begging for a gulp of air. He could picture him, in his alligator-skinned loafers, stepping over geese shit because the grounds staff decided to day-drink in the barn. Not only did he probably attend field parties, chances were he hosted them too, a full-blown Drew 1.0.

"We're from California," he insisted, "The Whittemore lineage originates there, which you would know had you read my packet. We just summered there."

"No one summers in that town," he scoffed, marveling at the frown lines imprinting deeper into his father's forehead. He should take a picture for his aunt's mantle, save it for the next Christmas card.

"Who's being a snob now?"

"Difference is I'm not actually ashamed of them," he winked, ruffling his feathers even further. "If you didn't live there, who did?"

"My dad's sister and her husband. When they died, she left the place to Reyna. Not that either of us wanted it. Rick couldn't ride to save his life and I've personally never been a fan of horse manure," his left twinkled with a mixture of nostalgia and disdain as he revisited years passed. Jackson could easily identify with that feeling--understanding that even though you despised every second of it, you'd never experience it again.

"We've got one thing in common," he tossed out there, not dissecting which commonality he was referring. "Which room was yours? Stuck you in the attic, did they? Don't lie," he covered up the tightness in his throat with more ribbing.

He didn't think he'd heard the man genuinely laugh in the last decade, but his cackle came close to it. "Actually, the room at the end of the hall."

Jackson squinted, "Left side or right?"

"Right. Does that have some importance I should know?"

"No," he blurted, then sighed. "That's Ade's room. I had the other side."

"Your father's room."

In spite of himself and his brain's warnings, he shifted to face his dad fully. "You better not be lying," he observed the smooth planes of his jaw as it clenched twice and relaxed.

"He used to play guitar all night long and when our uncle gave him this banjo, I slept in the barn for a week. I swear he only played it when I was home just to piss me off."

He smirked, "And did it?"

"One can only listen to so many renditions of Johnny Cash before they throw themselves in front of the hay baler. Overall, his singing wasn't completely stomach-wretching."

"Coming from you that means he was one step to a record deal."

"I wouldn't stretch that far," his dad leveled him with a look, using his mug to wave away the insinuation. They settled into another silence, this one not quite resembling those preceding it. He reclined on sore abs until his back met railing. Playing with the unopened bottle, he locked those few snippets of their lives into his long-term memory. A banjo player for a father, he shook his head, the apple fell far, far from the tree. He quit Jazz Band after one practice, even though Danny convinced the conductor to assign him to the Timpani, which weren't at all as simple as his best friend described. "He would have been proud of you," his dad muttered in the stilling air, "Gabrielle too, but she'd coddle anything that stumbled its way into her yard, so that's not saying much."

"You can save the bullshit," Jackson snorted.

His dad brushed dirt away from his work pants. "He was all about being well-rounded and well-liked."

"Well-liked and popular are two different things." In Kentucky, he wasn't even that, just another rich, snob associated with the wrong group.

His dad hummed, "Perhaps, but you have Stiles—" correction _he_ _had Stiles_ "—and your other friends, your cousins, that blonde kid with the shiny hair. All the extras wouldn't want to be you if they didn't see something likeable."

He shrugged, “Maybe.”

“I might not have instilled in you the best attitude, but I know I taught you to have some self-respect. Whittemores don’t wallow in self-pity.”

Jackson dropped the bottle back in its place, “What do you know about Whittemores? You haven’t seen your sister in decades. I didn’t even know you had a sister or a brother, the same one that brought me into this shitty family.” A laugh ripped from him, burning its way to the surface. “You don’t even know stuff about your own nieces and nephews that’s not in a folder. Go ahead...one thing.” He paused, hoping that maybe there was something in that bleached brain. The only sounds besides his own huff was the subtle barks ricocheting off the fence and the light whistling of leaves. “What’d Leal name his baby? How tall is Z now? Do you even remember where Ade’s going to school? He just told you.”

  
“Anything?!” he heard his voice crack and nature stilled, the leaves rustling no longer. Still, he waited for an answer or the semblance of one as the man stared straight passed him, at the Jacuzzi tarp. The veins under his dress shirt tightened with the balls of his fist and Jackson knew the exact feeling. His heart thumped with the force of his anger and frustration swirling together, but something different happened.

The urge to retaliate, the tension, the expectations and wishes he’d made in the cold silence of this empty house, they eased from his shoulders, drifting until he slumped from the relinquishing weight.

“Pathetic,” he kicked the rotting wood one last time, shaking his head as a large chunk fell to the ground. It took no effort to stand; he whistled for Percy so they could get the hell out of here, find the one person actually worthy of his remorse. “Thanks for the drink,” he threw over his shoulder.

They reached the gate when he heard a sullen, “Jackson, please.”

The words made him halt, but like hell, he’d spend another second talking to himself. He glared at the fence long enough the latch wavered in and out of focus. Eventually, a force, not his own, swiveled him in place, words spurting before his brain really knew their contents. “I used to think you were--” he couldn’t bring himself to admit it now, the years of silent admiration, of knowing one day he’d grow good enough to stand next to the illusion of the man he thought his father was.

“I meant what I said, about us starting over.”

“Until you start with the others, there’s nothing you can give me I don’t already have,” he cleared his throat, reaching back for the gate. At the last second, he added, “Thanks for the loft and tell mom I said hi,” he kicked the gate shut, inhaling as the finality of the clanking metal surrounded them. Breaking into his final sprint of the day, he made only one stop before heading to the school. It took him eight blocks to register his smile.

 

* * *

 

Stiles threw his phone in the passenger seat after checking the twentieth message not composed by Jackson, the last nine detailing his work duties today from Mr. Whittemore, the same man who appeared completely oblivious to his son’s disappearance act. The man could show some concern, but then again, that shouldn’t have surprised him either.

Looking in the side mirror, he scanned for Erica’s chipper blonde head in the bodies pouring from the entrance doors. One or two minutes late, that was acceptable, maybe even five on a good day, but today was not of the sorts. His stupid ever-loving internship started in thirty-five minutes and the commute itself took at least forty-five. You would think that if someone asked for a ride home, they'd hurry their butts up. If his hands didn’t start filing something soon, they’d start attacking things. Many, many things.He tried her cell again when cars started to line out the lot. That professional, ear-grating machine offered him to leave a voicemail and a voicemail, he left,“You’re five minutes from walking that werewolf butt home, princess. Hurry the hell up, some people have--” his attention wavered when a dog’s bark fluttered through his cracked window. What idiot brought their dog to school? Swiveling to locate it, he grinned, far too sleep-deprived to justify not finding amusement in this situation.

Said smile dwindled when he found it by the bike racks, trying to bust through an impenetrable circle of teenagers, nipping their clothed calves and failing to nudge his muscular body between legs. He’d recognized that ‘all bark; definite bite’ gray and black-blotched coat anywhere.

“Shit,” he hissed when the clues strung themselves together. Whipping the Jeep around to the no-parking zone, he jumped out, sprinting right into the pushing frenzy. It took him several tries and two elbows to the gut, but he broke through the outer two rows.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the chant elevated around him, everyone jostling for a better view. He heard a few rasps under the chanting, immediately sneering at the topic of their gossip. _“When’d he get back?” “Eww, did he always look so...grungy?” “You know what they say trash will be trash.”_

His heart thumped, a mixture of anger, annoyance, and defiance swimming through his veins. Stiles managed to rip past the last three rows, not a hint of remorse when someone pushed the bitch calling Jackson trash. Whatever he expected, finding Jackson staggering back from a pissed Scott was not it. His boyfriend...maybe boyfriend...spat blood, his glare venomous as it was in that parking lot, two days ago. Stiles, along with everyone around him, sucked breath as Jackson tightened his fists. Yet, they never moved, even when Scott advanced. He’d seen enough the second Scott’s fist swung in the air, sprinting across the wide circle to block Scott and Jackson at his back.

“Whoa,” he threw his hand out, pressing the other back against Jackson’s hip, “You don’t wanna do that, bud.”

Scott’s eyes widened at him, the both of them as his fist thrashed midair.”Stiles-” he sneered, “But--he...”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah and you’re doing the same thing.” He eyed his best friend, noting the quickening vibration in his fist. The way he looked at them, that barely controlled anger inside him, yanked Stiles back to event he told himself to erase. _For him, not you. Him, not you._ He kept telling himself, his throat slowly suffocating him as he felt Jackson, not close enough for touch, but close enough that the heat of his gaze radiated through his head. Fifty of their classmates sealing them inside and a vengeful Scott didn’t help either.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” _Fucking mindless idiots,_ Stiles wished slow, mind-numbing pains for them all. The chanting built up in his head, until he couldn’t hear his own breathing, let alone the shuffle of movement as Jackson suddenly stepped in front of him, shielding him from Scott’s wavering scowl. At this point, he couldn’t tell who was saving who, protecting who.

“Stiles,” Scott barked, pointedly sneering at where his and Jackson’s hands orbited centimeters from touching. He hadn’t noticed himself, but then Jackson’s thumb brushed his and he fought the urge to sigh.

“I’m fine, we’re fine...just go.”

Scott, with his jaw still tightened, pivoted on his heels with a sharp turn and stormed through the parting crowd. Isaac and Boyd, who Stiles hadn’t noticed until now, floated after him, Isaac mouthing quick apologies and Boyd shaking his head. After all that, the circle shifted closed, all back to feast on their every move.

“Don’t you have fucking lives.” Jackson hissed, jumping people to action. Since Jackson’s biceps felt ready for round two, Stiles drug him through the now loose circle, ignoring his multiple attempts to jerk away.

“Keep it up and a guy might think he’s got cooties,” he teased, but only for the nosy bitches still watching for him. Of course, Jackson didn’t respond anyway, but his hand wrapped around Stiles’s tighter. He accepted that as its own form of validation. Percy torpedoed between their legs once they broke from the constricting air. “Good boy,” Stiles cooed, patting his butt when he voluntarily hopped into the backseat, not that his good behavior lasted more than the time it took to coral Jackson into the passenger’s seat.

He weaseled his way between the seat, trumping over their thighs until he slipped down into Jackson’s opened legs. With the amount of vulture peeking at them from all angles, Stiles should have started the car, but he wanted answers or at least, a thanks for saving my ass. Hands on the ignition, he faced Jackson, finally getting a look at him, even if Jackson wouldn’t do the same.

The bruises and cuts might have healed, but dry blood still marked their existence. And sweat. Lots and lots of it, soaking through every thread of his clothing, also things Jackson wouldn’t dare wear in public. “You plan on telling me where the hell you’ve been? Or what happened back there?” he asked, but cursing for breaking first. The answer was a wet box being thrust in his lap. “What this?”

He flipped the sweat-soaked cardboard, barely masking his mild disgust. Then, one of the edges collapsed at the barest of pressures and he dropped them in his side pocket.

“They didn’t have flowers.”

“So you got me Honey Buns?” he couldn’t help but laugh as Jackson shrugged, finally looking over at him. His eyes, first wide and gleaming with surprised laughter, subdued to a bleak dullness when they both caught movement in the rearview, a police car without the blaring lights.

“Seat belt, I’m late,” he lurched away from the curve before Jackson reached moved. Stiles drove them towards his vague recollection of the loft.

The closer he drove to the loft, the harder his fingers rapped on the wheel. All of it...he’s trying to sweep it away, Danny’s warning still ringing is his ears. But, when is enough, just enough?How many times is he gonna have to bounce off Jackson’s moods, wait for him to be a civil human being who uses words? Stiles whipped into the makeshift lot, pulling into the spot right next to that hulking red truck. The top blocked the sun from reaching them, darkening them to blue shadows. When he clicked off the ignition, he didn’t look over this time. Simply, trying to control his own erratic breathing. Of course, that’s when he felt Jackson’s gaze and heard his pouty breaths sucking oxygen from the sealed windows. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not that the grip on his chest would allow him to.

“Danny said the limo’s coming around seven,” Jackson said, splitting through the silence.

He snorted, “Yeah, not happening.”

“We’re good now.”

Stiles squinted at him, checking for brain injury. “We’re not--” his voice cracked, startling both Jackson and Percy, who’d curled his head on the seat between Jackson’s thighs. “You can’t throw some snacks at me and say, _but we’re good now_.”

“That's what you told me to do!” Jackson's voice thundered across the lot. He saw curtains shifting in his peripheral, but a few of Derek’s disgruntled tenants didn’t even registered on his ‘fucks-given’ scale. “You said, when I got my shit together.”

“Congratulations,” he shifted to the side mirror, fighting everything inside him that wanted to cave and listen to whatever 'got my shit together' entailed. It’d take no effort too, because Jackson already knew he’d forgiven him, the sudden confidence in his voice said as much. “You ok from here?” he kept his question devoid of anything revealing, especially the tremor threatening his vocal box.

“Stiles.”

He peered over briefly, presented with his open expression. It was the wrong thing to do. Sighing, he leaned over him, grappling with the door handle until it opened, “I’m late.”

Jackson slammed the door behind them and they watched one another from their sides, neither making a move to retreat, until his phone rang with the office’s name on display for both of them to see. The moment felt unfinished, empty, and he bit his lip to keep the words inside. “I’ll call you later.” He backed from the space and drove straight home, ignoring the stream of Sacramento area codes blowing up his phone.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles finally decided to merge from bed on Saturday, the sun had already rescinded, replaced by an indigo haze. He padded around the house with a wince, in search of nutrients. This is what his life reduced to--food scavenging on a Saturday night alone, still sticky and aching from a day of watching brain numbing porn and jerking off. So what if he’d touched himself more than the usual dosage recommended? He was seventeen, frustrated, and horny as hell. And now, he was hungry.

His phone blitzed as he tore through the fridge, hoping for at least this week’s leftovers. Only there were none because he ate out every day this week, like a slop. _Freaking Jackson_ , that’s who he blamed. At the beginning of the week, he’d been too anxious waiting for Jackson’s return to worry about something mundane as nutrition. Then, Thursday happened. Who in their right mind would roast chicken and steam some veggies after that?

His stomach gargled as he thunked his head against the fridge door, scrolling through the stream of incoming prom photos, most of them from Erica and Danny. He could be there right now--laughing in his tux, sneaking sips from whatever bottle Erica stashed in her purse, making fun of Jackson’s scowl as they forced him to dance. Whatever, he’d have hugged the wall anyway, too aware of everyone’s attention on them to properly enjoy himself. Just for a moment, though, he allowed his aggravation to fester. Before he knew it, he’d snatched his keys on the way out the door. The more he thought about it, the tighter he clung to the clutch, until it landed him right outside of the decrepit building.

Slamming the door, he blinked at the sporadic lights, most of them emitting from the highest level. Though he’d never been up there himself, he knew exactly whom those lights belonged to.Staying down here, among the creepy shadows seemed equal torture to the nightmare upstairs, so he sighed and slipped through the door when a woman and her dog stepped out.

His entire speech came to him as the elevator ticked upwards, perfectly in time with his frustration. He banged on the door, knuckles burning from the hard impact of metal. Sneering, he readied his mouth to release every nasty thought, opinion, and ultimatum sitting on his tongue. Most of all ignored the part of himself that just wanted this to be over, wanted his boyfriend back, wanted to feel something other than resentment...and guilt.

“If you _ever--_ ” and then every syllable died, his breath caught as he laid eyes on Jackson, scratching lazily through his happy trail in wrinkled basketball shorts that were already threatening to collide with the floor. Really, he should have more self-control than this. “Seriously,” he groaned, “Do you ever quit?”

He really did craft plans--for the ultimatums and the resentments and the eventual apologies, but reality had plans of its own. He couldn't quite tell if he stumbled forward or if Jackson yanked him forward, but soon his nasty shirt was the only thing separating them.  A wrangled whimper filled the air and he was embarrassed to identify it as his. Then again, neither of them slowed down enough to acknowledge it. He rustled with his jacket, punching the air until Jackson helped him shove it off. Jackson dragging his lips from his mouth straight down to his neck was like exploding a dam. You'd think with how much he'd jerked off in the last forty-eight hours, he'd have a better grip on his control or at least a tolerance for hands on his dick. 

Nothing prepared him for the sensation of Jackson's hand disappearing under his sweats; he moaned, silently adding makeup sex to his 'absolutely worth the drama' column. 

When he felt as if he was drowning, he pulled away for air, and yet not daring to let go fully. Stiles felt his glare as he looked around, noticing how they'd left the door wide open, still standing on the landing. His skin prickled ablaze under the heat of Jackson’s eyes. It wasn’t helping him steady his breathing. 

His peripheral caught on something,“My god,” he ducked away from Jackson’s arm, mid grope to cross the loft in two strides. “Holy mother. How big is that?” Stiles halted in front of the massive TV, marveling like a child staring at a candy store window. He wanted to spread his arms wide and hug something fierce into it, assuming he could even wrap his arms across the front. “It’s official. I’m marrying your TV, dude.”

“It’s not on the market,” Jackson said behind him, his voice still low and rumbling. “Unlike me if your ass doesn’t get back here.”

Stiles laughed at that, swiveling to face him, “I’ve ruined you for all the boys and girls in this world and you know it. Besides,” he adjusted the band of his sweatpants, “Pretty sure you haven’t earned this yet.”

“Said the guy clawing for my dick not two seconds ago.”

He shrugged. No one ever said he was perfect. Just for the sake of standing his ground and not looking like the world’s greatest hypocrite, he finally peeked at the place everyone’d been talking about for the past month.

“Damn...this is nice,” he said, spinning around. The high ceilings, the wall of windows, the random lacrosse mural stenciled black on the farthest wall, yeah--he could grow used to this place. “You know what this place needs? A fort.”

“A fort?” Jackson’s deadpan echoed off the high beams. “Were you reduced to a twelve year old while I was gone?”

“That’d be disturbing if I was and nothing says relationship therapy like warm sheets cocooning two souls in love,” he circled him, trailing his finger over his skin as he walked.

“We need therapy now too?”

“Figure of speech. Chop chop, off with supplies,” he shooed him, already outlining the structure in his head. He and Laura used to force Derek to build them double-layered forts all the time. Therefore, if he could get Derek to do something, he could get anyone to do it. Water trickling through the pipes echoed around them as Jackson's shoulders dropped, his grimace loosening into a barely-concealed smile. Without a word, Jackson retreated down the hall and he conceded that as a win.

After stealing a grape soda from the fridge, he called Chinese delivery. The single greatest thing about not being alone on Prom night happened when he ordered, "the Orange Chicken special, Cashew Beef, steamed dumplings, Shrimp Fried Rice, Mixed Vegetables, a quart of Egg Drop soup, Chinese dumplings, and five egg rolls," and actually used plural pronouns to reference someone other than himself.

The man, old and grumpy by the sound of it, sneered at the street name and hung up. Stiles didn't mind, as long as he delivered their food hot and in a timely fashion. With nothing better to do than dream of plans for their soon-to-be blanket kingdom, he hopped on the counter, chugging the rest of the cold soda. He could do this. They could do this. Just like old times.

"Are we feeding the cavalry?" Jackson asked as he came from a darkened hallway, holding a mound of half-folded sheets.

The can clanked on the slab from his sudden jolt off the counter, "If by cavalry, you mean my belly, then absolutely. You should grab your mattress too. Papa's got plans," he winked, letting his fingers brush over Jackson's as he grabbed the pile.

"Please never say that again," Jackson snorted, headed back down the hall.

Stiles stayed away from the majestic TV, instead positioning the foundation around it for optimal viewing. Per his orders and with hardly any grumbling this time, Jackson drug around his still full moving boxes, which Stiles had him shape into tunnels, one straight into the kitchen and the other right outside the hallway to Jackson’s room. With food, drinks, and toilets, he could stay cooped in this thing forever, the last month of school be damned.

The structure materialized before their eyes. Together they draped blankets over furniture, pushed couches and tables to the center of the room. Neither of them spoke much, save for a few side comments from the least adventurous boyfriend in all California.

"It looks like bad ass children live here," Jackson commented once Stiles ensconced himself in the heart of the fort, making sure their binds would hold.

"Every child is an artist, Jacky boy. The problem is staying one when we grow up," he rattled off while prickling his finger on a safety pin. "Pablo Picasso. You have the pup's lights yet?"

"We gotta put them back by tomorrow." A ball of string lights flew at him from the mouth and he caught them before they careened into the wall, destroying all their hard work. Enjoying these things were a completely different experience when you were three/four feet from the ground. His elbows cracked as he strung the last few lights. Finally, Isaac embracing his true, hipster nature proved useful. After the lights, he weaved a few orange and gray scarves with the string, creating a mixture of dark and shimmering gold. He fell back onto Jackson’s mattress, his old friend, and blinked at their haven. Perfect. “How’s it looking out there?”

“It’s too hot,” Jackson’s muffle crept through the cloth as he backed out, hands and knees. By the time he maneuvered the twists and turns, Stiles was staring at Jackson’s ass as it retreated down the hallway of doom

He resurfaced with a fan, both the plug and its extension cord dragging behind him. Biting his lip, Jackson stared intently at their masterpiece for moments too long, eventually positioning it at the head of the fort with enough angle to cool both them and the TV. He knew it; there was a child in everyone. Coughing away his grin, he stepped back, double-checking the perimeter to ensure all crevices were sealed with safety pins, also something they stole from Isaac’s room. He beamed, their first official blanket fort as a couple. This felt like a milestone in the midst of all the backwards progression. Snapping a quick picture, he uploaded it with pride.

“Clearly, this kingdom needs rules,” he exclaimed, pocketing his phone.

He could feel Jackson shaking his head, “Can’t have bitches acting they run the joint.”

Stiles knew heavy sarcasm when he heard it, but he winked anyway. Careful not to knock the stronghold of their foundation, he climbed onto the cushion-less sofa, almost braining himself on the ceiling fan.

Chest out, pointer finger thrust to the ceiling, he declared, “I, Stiles Stilinski, co-emperor of this bitch, hereby decree the first bylaw of Sexemburg to be--” he gleamed at Jackson’s wide amusement, staving off laughter as best he could, “No pants allowed.” He probably shouldn’t tease him like that, especially since he left both of them high and dry earlier. As he said earlier--he’s seventeen, still horny as hell, and even hungrier. “Go on, oldest first.”

Jackson, for the first time tonight, looked at him with something other than mild amusement and annoyance. Hands subconsciously scratching through his happy trail, he reached for his shorts' waistline, tugging on the elastic as Stiles tilted his head, offering another challenge.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” with an afterthought Stiles added, “and more.”

Locking his gaze, Jackson let the cloth fall to the ground, revealing sensible Jackson-typical gray boxer briefs. Yeah--his first decree might have been a tad self-serving, but he’s far too familiar with the feel of his own hand at this point, so sue him.

When it was his turn, he marched in place until his sweats had no choice but to concede, unearthing boxers he totally forgot he’d put on this morning.

“What is that?!” Jackson cracked up, pointing at them.

Stiles popped the elastic on the red and yellow monstrosities. Both the arrow pointing to his stomach, with “The Man” written under it and the arrow pointing left to his junk, saying “the Legend” rippled as the cheap material settled. “They’re my prom boxers; thought I get some mileage out of 'em.”

“You were going to wear those? To our prom?” Jackson, too busy cracking up, didn’t catch the blimp of his heart. Their prom, he mourned the slightest for their would-be night, dancing, drinking spiked punch, being cuter than everyone in that poorly decorated gym. Then again, he peered around at their fort, simply waiting for bodies, yeah--this was a eighty million times better. He opened his mouth to diffuse the tension, but someone banged on the door. Jackson glanced in the direction of his wallet, but Stiles brushed past him.

“It's my turn,” he clicked his teeth. "Get your ass in Sexemburg now."

"Said no one ever."

"Go," Just to strike more fear, he threw the closest thing, a throw pillow they'd left sitting near the kitchen stools. "Take that with you and drinks!"

"It's my place."

"Not anymore. I'm here now," he shouted back, chuckling as he slid open the obnoxious door to cease the equally obnoxious knocking. After paying and lugging two of the three bags into Sexemburg, he finally collapsed against the couch's spine and closed the cloth door to their fort. They probably should have factored proximity into their construction, he thought, shuffling so that his bare leg wasn't directly pressing against Jackson's. That only made him even more uncomfortable, so he readjusted again and again and again. He wasn't aware of the amused eyes on him until the only person rattling the sheet wall was him. Freezing, he snuck quick glances at Jackson, then at the low ceiling. They dissolved into light giggles that were only 30% awkward.

"Either I've grown or my skills are lacking," he crossed to Jackson's side and pressed his back against the couch's spine. He made the split second decision to throw his legs over Jackson's lap, and then sighed when a warm hand cupped his calf. The mood shifted instantly, to something far more serious, then silly. Despite the fan’s powerful oscillations, his skin felt clammy, especially under the heat of Jackson’s hand. He could feel the apology in the air, threatening to ruin whatever happy medium they'd finally stumbled upon. Apart of him wanted to get it over with, to stop toeing the fence. Another part of him also wanted to laugh and eat and make fun of Isaac’s over-dramatic scarves. Coincidentally, neither parts wanted to admit his hand in the shambles leading up to this moment, call it pride...no guilt.

Of course, Stiles hadn’t factored in Jackson emitting waves of nervous energy, his eyes crinkled down as he lingered on the bandage circling Stiles’s wrist, the bandage he’d tried to hide all night. That same energy must have transferred through touch because he blurted, “I gave my two weeks.”

Jackson shut his mouth, stopping whatever he’d plan to say. Stiles wondered if he was aware of his facial expressions or if his eyebrows furrowed like that subconsciously. He expected relief, maybe a sigh or two. The prolonged silence prickled over his skin until he was rushing to fill it, “I shouldn’t have took it in the first place. I knew he...you wanted him to be...” he groaned, aggravated at the struggle for words, “I like challenges but it wasn’t mine to solve, so sorry.” By the end of it, his words were barely above a mutter.

“What.”

“I said sorry for--”

“I heard what you said,” Jackson pushed his legs away and he mourned the sweltering touch, “Get it back.”

Stiles sputtered as he dragged his legs under him. “I...you...Why the hell would I do that? You bitch about it all. the. time.”

“You wanna be there, be there. I'm not telling you what to do.”

“Noo that’d be ridiculous,” he scoffed, “You’ll just treat me like shit for it.” The words punctured the air, ringing in a deadly silence that made him realize just how loud their voices elevated. They glared at each other, unmoving, until the energy for anger drained from him. “I get it. You wanna be noble, sacrificing your feelings for the sake of my happiness, blah blah blah. But if we’re gonna work, you can’t be cool today and pissy three weeks from now cause Thursday is _never_ happening again _.”_

“I know. I know,” Jackson rushed to say, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Serious, you do it again and that’s it.”

Jackson decided counting the lights was more important than answering him, so he accepted that as the conversation’s end. Busying himself with food, he replayed the conversation in his head. Maybe, he was too harsh. _Nah,_ better that than the truth.

He hated having to quit; the junior associates treated him like a lackey, sure, but a lackey who deserved respect. And, Mr. Whittemore--for all his irritatingly multiple syllabic words and his three piece suits--had started to grow on him, like how he assumed people enjoyed aged wine and cheese. In the end, he didn’t grow up with a realist for a father and two cynics as neighbors to think he could have both. By thirteen, any optimism his mother ingrained in him drowned under rants of conspiracy theories and overheard criminal cases.

Still, he couldn’t remember a time when they couldn't talk, even yesterday words were shared. Granted, they were loud words, but they still existed. When Jackson finally moved, he reached across the fort, digging under pillows until he held two controllers. Stiles half-expected him to sit on the other side, but he returned to his spot, but closer this time. Close enough that their sides blended as Stiles faced the TV.

This he could do. Stiles ate his weight in dumplings while Jackson scrolled through game after game, making unimpressed grunts at each one. They cycled through the list five times before choosing their favorite.

“Care to make it interesting again?” he wiggled the controller in his hand and Jackson shrugged, automatically understanding. Most people in this situation, they’d battle for clothes, strip teases, etc but Stiles knew all of that would follow the one thing they needed most. Truth.

Neither of them particularly willing to continue the conversation, they forced their all into it the first fight, the rattle of buttons and crack of knuckles intermixing with the old game’s sound effects. Of course, he lost.

“Who thought it was a good idea to buy those things?” Jackson prompted, pointing to his boxers as he jacked a spoonful of rice from the container. He laughed; grateful they were starting easy.

“Uh me. One article of clothing has never identified with me so well,” he shrugged, snorting at the spew of mutilated shrimp and rice kernels from Jackson’s mouth. They played a few more times, each question more ridiculous than the last.

_Run into any vagabonds on the drive back?_

**What’s the word on McCall and Lahey, still going at it?**

_If I order pizza just to convince the driver to stop for beer would you judge me?_

**What’d the girls have to say about you skipping prom?**

They were all rated-G questions, and even though conversation flowed without hitches of breaths or awkward silences, they started to grated on Stiles’s nerves. After the seventh one, he speared Jackson’s guy with a smug grimace and asked while he faced him, “Did you really mean it? What you said.”

His response came faster than Stiles’s expected, “No. Yes. No.”

“So that’s your final answer? Going once. Going twice?” he found himself grinning, despite the nature of the question.

“You weren’t the problem. I know you’re not...like that.”

"Do you want to talk about the problem?" he wouldn't be himself if he didn't ask. The only thing stopping him from asking yesterday was built-up frustration (and stubborn pride). Jackson's jaw clenched as he squirmed in place, his answer coming and stopping before Stiles spared him. He rolled his eyes, “Don’t brain yourself. I already forgave you.”

“Yeah?” Jackson leaned in close to him, crossing the invisible barrier they’d set when Jackson pushed him away. It’s innocent in nature, probably not meant to mean what he thinks it means. But, it was a rare occasion when he’d seen such plain openness in those green eyes. “Cause you said--”

“You already knew I was gonna forgive you,” he stopped whatever twisted half-truth he’d gathered from their teasing earlier.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he mumbled it so soft, Stiles only knew the words existed because they were such a typical martyr Jackson thing to say. Just like he had to physically reach over and force Jackson to look somewhere other than his forehead.

“Contrary to popular beliefs, you’re not actually a god. You’re gonna shit on life just as much as the rest of us.” Jackson’s round little nose scrunched up at that and Stiles got the strange urge to kiss it. He managed to reign himself in, for the sake of the moment, but it made him hyper-aware of other places he’d like to kiss. Couldn’t they just skip to that part already? Who said they needed to talk it out like every other mature relationship? Stiles cleared his throat, scooting even closer, “You just remember this when it’s my turn.”

“Okay, whatever you say Stiles,” Jackson snorted as if he didn’t believe him capable. All in good time, he thought, peering at him silently as Jackson fell back against the mattress, letting the pillow top cradle his head.

Stiles stared at him, this time not curbing his desire. It wasn’t as if it’d been that long, not counting whatever that was earlier tonight. It’d only been a few weeks at max, since his visit. He couldn’t stop himself from crossing the little mattress space separating them. Jackson turned his focus on him slowly, his eyes questioning and challenging him all at once.

Just because he’d invited him didn’t mean Stiles would take it. He did remove the final inch though, hovering over him so they waited, face to face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jackson whispered against him and he swallowed the words, finally kissing him. This time, its delicately slow, no feverous biting, razor sharp nails. Even though he could feel Jackson, full and heavy against his thigh, he reveled in the tease of pressure, simply content with his tongue. Jackson rocked against him, once, twice, then a third time, building enough momentum to send him to his back. His grumbled complaint died the second Jackson dropped into the cradle of his legs. "Missed this."

 _Yeah, me too,_ he thought, but couldn't produce the words as a warm hand slid under his prom boxers, the other one caressing his bandaged wrist. He missed every ounce of this--feeling Jackson's intensity rather than his annoyance,  the way he writhed against him but made no move toward anything besides torturous friction, all of it. His skin felt flushed, a blazing heat wherever Jackson drug his nails. 

"Stiles," the low whimper made him shiver, just as the screech of metal echoed around the loft. Groaning, he mourned the blanket of delicious heat as Jackson dropped off him.

“Is it still up?!” Erica yelled.

Their chatter, noisy and incessant filled the soft silence, rowdy enough to deflate his erection in near seconds, just in time to escape Erica's smug leering as she boldly stuck her head in their territory. 

She completely ignored their half-naked bodies as she settled furthest from them, giving the others more opportunities to shuffle in. Stiles whined and bitched right along with his boyfriend--first at Lydia and Allison, in their prom dress and yoga pants, then Boyd, then Danny with a Ethan fast on his heels, and then Ethan’s twin, rude enough to steal a cartoon of THEIR food before tugging Lydia into his lap. He finally thought they escaped the torture when Scott appeared at the opening too. All the casual chatter ceased as he felt Jackson tense behind him. They all gawked, afraid to move as the two shot death glares. As if the heat hadn’t rose enough in here. He thought they’d actually have to interfere, but Jackson surprised them all, nodding succinctly in his vague direction. The room deflated at Scott’s murmured apology then Isaac dashed in after him, sealing the fort back like any of them had the right to be here in the first place.

“Excuse you!”

“Oh were you having a moment?” Lydia, her shimmery gold eye shadow, twinkled at them, looking far too innocent for a mastermind. Wildly, he gestured around their bodies--Jackson’s super sculpted, sexy body and his meh one.

“By all means, continue,” Erica said, blatantly leering at the two of them, specifically Jackson’s, “I could use the entertainment after that shit show. They wouldn’t even play slow songs.”

“I despise you all,” Stiles groaned, ignoring the snickers as Scott dropped two sets of pants, their pants, into his lap. “Not you. Never you,” he nudged Scotty, in hopes of stopping his puppy eyes.

“I call choosing the movie,” Isaac said, tugging a portion of lights and scarves above his head and daring them to refuse.

He suspected Jackson cared about as much as him, meaning not at all. The group fought for remote privileges until Isaac stumbled on some Harry Potter marathon as if there wasn’t a Harry Potter marathon playing on at least one channel every day. Shortly after the first commercial break, someone clicked off the lights, drowning the room into shadows and fluorescent flashes. It reminded him of the night peering into his room earlier. How he’d gotten here, surrounded by pack and sweltering in an not entirely unpleasant way, from there was beyond him?

Even still, amidst the shouts of teenaged abandon, the sheen of sweat settling over his skin, and Scott snoring heavily at his side, he fell asleep sometime during Goblet of Fire to Jackson drawing nonsensical words into his skin. Overall, not the worst prom in the record books. Not at all.


	27. Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Second update of the Finale)

Berkeley, CA - May 21

 

“Guess who got a job,” TJ Daniels yelled, bursting through the door and into his and Ade's scarcely decorated living room. And, he did mean scarcely--as in poor people style. If only the guys could see him now, squeezing through boxes, the TV he swiped from his little nieces' play room and two folding chairs they found, months past mildewed, in A's pickup. Yep...living the high school free, independent life.

He stopped short at the kitchen door, leaning his starched white shirt against peeling wood, but who cared about fashion when he had perfect views, say for instance, of his not-boyfriend stretching to reach the big boy shelves. A good not-boyfriend would offer his height, but no one ever associated him with good, so he stayed put. Ade’s shirt--the tight, dark blue one with the hole near the left pit--rode up from each strain, teasing smooth skin and that random hair patch on the dimple Ade swore didn’t exist. _Oh it most certainly did._ "BRepublic, bitch," TJ couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

"With what resume?" the jerkface had the audacity to glance over his shoulder, his cocked eyes lethargically taking TJ in as if he hadn’t watched him get dressed this morning from his lazy position bed. Even still, he smirked at the boldness of it. Back home, they’d been reduced to fast glances and quick hands.

“My face mostly, some charisma. People really dig the man bun here,” Knowing how much the loose hair ball pissed Ade off, he released it, raking his hands through a days worth of knots.

“No one digs the man bun. Ever." His voice wavered as he jumped to push the plastic cups in their place. "And when you told them you're moving to bumfuck nowhere in three months?"

"Nashville is not--" he sealed his lips, barely containing his smile as he shook his head.

Ade turned to him, a devious glint to his green eyes. "What was that? Nashville is nottt...go, ahead. Say it." _Nope_. Last time he defended his soon home-away-from-home, they argued for hours about what Ade called the soul-sucking, attention-hogging, capitalistic disgrace of their culture. He called it all bullshit. His buddy Tristen, from ninth grade, moved to Nashville days after they went to the winter dance as "bros."

"Anyway...that's need to know business only," he waggled his brows, stealing the plastic bowls from his grasp and crowding him against the counter. "You should congratulate me."

“You don’t even need the money.”

“No,” he muttered against his lips, “But that employee discount card will look damn good in my new wallet. It’s not a big deal, A. Fifteen hours a week.”

“I thought the point of all this--” His cheeks puffed red, his obvious tell when he tried masking his frustration. TJ stepped back, giving him enough room to work through it because his face couldn’t take anymore damage. Gotta protect the goods and all. “We’re supposed to do shit together.”

“And we will,” he stole his hat, throwing it on the counter to see his full face. “but in the meantime, you can be my kept boy.”

“Kept boy?!” It sparked a laugh out of him, though. “You’re my kept boy.”

“Umm...who has the job around here?” TJ pulled his warmth back when Ade reached for the box again.

“Cause your 7.25 is paying all the bills.”

“It’s 9.50 here and that’s at least two months rent in your pocket. I’m not the one living off campus." Not, that Vanderbilt tuition and board wasn't going to fire a sizable hole in his parents' bank account. "We're good?"

"Yeah, whatever." He turned back to his mundane box of plastic plates and silverware.

"Hey, no seriously?"

"I have summer reading anyway."

"Of course you do, nerd," he smacked his ass, "Oh, yeah and J, Stiles and the lollipop gang are coming Friday so we might want to buy a couch..." he peeked inside the fridge, "and some food."

"Who's unpacking all this shit before then?"

"I said the same thing when I bought them in. By myself. Have fun!" He pretended to head for their room, stopping farther enough in the shadows to let him stew in his own funk for a minute, then Ade mumbled profanities about him and his man bun and nonexistent work ethic. "Well, I was gonna help but now I'm exhausted."

"Fuck you," Ade choked out on a bitter laugh.

"That's the spirit." Crashing into the mattress, he breathed in their scents, already combining from the two weeks they'd slept here. He really did plan on helping, especially with his four boxes of clothes alone. With that fool's heavy hand, his clothes didn't stand a chance, but he couldn't force himself to move. After all, they only had three months of this and common sense told him what'd happen after that. So, he slid under the covers, enjoying them for now.

 

* * *

 

Paris, KY - June 2

"And, here we are, young man. 32 Cambridge Way. You give us a call and we'll set you right up for your return flight," the wrinkling driver tipped his hat as if they’d drove straight into the 1930s. Normally, all one had to do was pay to dismiss the driver, but the man sat, waiting until he rapped on the hood. He supposed when you’re ninety years old and still driving a taxi, everyone was considered a young man. At the very least, the geezer could have helped him with his luggage. Why else would he pay thirty percent gratuity?

Crooks.

But, he straightened his back, smoothing confident hands down his Oxford. There was no use letting the help ruin a perfectly calm afternoon. Lightly tossing his jacket over his arm, he grimaced at the sprawling estate before him, all the changes she’d made to one hundred year-old wood and tacky red shutters.

Unfortunately, with no car, hotel, or strong cell reception from the looks of it, he possessed only one option--walk to the door. Last time he came here, the porch steps croaked under his soles, but apparently, she’d fixed that too. Inhaling the putrid heat of animal excrement, he rang the doorbell, hearing the same ‘ole twinkle of chimes.

“Got it!!” A young voice yelled just on the other side, followed by a thundering of feet, the youngest of her four, his brain supplied. The one Jackson referred to as “Z”. For the first time in...awhile, his chest quivered with the weight of what he knew needed to be done. Not quite butterflies, because that would be ridiculous for a man of his stature, but something still unnerving.

The door flung open, revealing a boy much taller than him, but still skinny as a fawn’s legs. With his hair swooping in every direction, the boy could barely look at him head on. When he did, he gave him nothing more than a careless once over, not even a tremor of recognition. “It’s some man!” he disappeared without another glance in his direction.

 _Some man,_ the lack of respect in children these days.

Then, her voice rang out, “Ezra, what did I tell you about that. It’s rude talking to people like that--” her rant continued as she stepped in front of the door, but facing the direction where her spawn escaped. She might not have noticed him yet, but in the span of three seconds, he logged every notable thing about her, breathing in the warmth of her presence until she turned.

"David...." she froze, one hand clutching the door and the other loose on the handle.

"Reyna," he wanted to say more, perhaps hug like normal siblings.

When he didn’t move, she smiled cautiously, even if he could feel the tinge of her kindness still simmering, embedded under decades of distrust and silent treatments. “Come, the food’s getting cold and nobody likes reheated chicken,” she opened the door wider and with a finale exhale, he took the first step.

 

* * *

 

Los Angeles, CA - July 14

 

“How about now? Can you hear them? Huh. Answer me!” Stiles jabbed him in the side repeatedly, somehow also managing to hit the lady on the left with his ridiculous sign. He tugged Stiles closer, grumbling a negative and keeping his ears peeled to the masses of arriving passengers. LAX was the third busiest airport in the country, so how Stiles expected him to pinpoint not one, but six distinct voices that he’d never heard a day in his life was beyond him. Heightened senses weren’t synonymous with God.

“Relax,” he muttered, pinning Stiles’s arms down. His skin already burned wet from the summer heat, but if it kept Stiles still, he’d gladly sacrifice. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“You can’t get headaches, loser,” Stiles mumbled, smacking a loud and dramatic smooch to his cheek. _Great,_ now, the woman was gawking at him, her eyebrows hidden by bangs too young for her ailing frame. Something about the audacity of close-minded people made him want to perform, give them a true show. Winking her way, he squeezed Stiles’s hip, letting that same hand drift down over his ass. _Take that lady,_ he shot a scandalized gasp back at her, chuckling inwardly at the way she mean-mugged them. His triumph didn’t last long as Stiles drug his hand to safe territory, “Handsy much?”

“I aim to please.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, the embarrassed flush to his cheeks brightening, “Who? Yourself?”

“Mostly and I guesss, you too.”

“You guess?!” he shoved him, snorting. “Best behavior, Whittemore. I have something you want.”

“Well in that case,” he saluted to him, all the while still pondering ways to embarrass the heck out of his boyfriend this weekend; after all, he’d had to compete with six other people who knew Stiles longer...and better.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Stiles poked his frown lines until they deflated.

“Where else would I be? They’re my tickets,” Jackson scoffed, seconds from reminding him once again which one of them found the band’s concert tickets. Stiles claimed he deserved credit since he cleaned out that particular box, but they were stuffed in his things, so he deserved any credit by default.

“False, they’re our tickets and you didn’t even want to stand next to me that night.”

Several other waiting families and couples peeked at them when his voice rose above the appropriate volume.

“Not in that outfit, I didn’t,” he thought of the impromptu concert, now only a few months from being a year ago, remembering the hollowness in his stomach as thousands of people shouted an amalgamation of their names.

“Bitch please,” Stiles snorted, pinching him. “I will never look sexier than I did in that outfit. Erica made sure of it. Admit it--I was hot and you were chicken.”

“Fine...” he smirked, pretending to concede the argument, then at the last second, when pride filled his head, he finished, “You were hot.”

Smacking his teeth, Stiles punched him, bringing their faces closer together. He had half a mind to kiss him right here, but his parents taught him a tendril of decorum.

A throat cleared and they snapped apart, both pivoting in the person’s direction at the same time. “You two need a room or can we get some love too?” The one spearheading the group said, holding his arms out as if they were expected to run into them.

In the middle of the Los Angeles International Airport, Stiles did exactly that. He winced, eyes widening, as his boyfriend and four other guys screeched bloody murder, jumping in a tight circle while they each tried to drown each other in a sea of armpits. The whole scene was like watching versions of Stiles’s personality in four other different hosts.

The tallest one, Jackson deemed him Stiles #1, blew a kiss at him and he glanced over his shoulders, praying someone else stood behind him. Unless the kid had an extreme fetish for airline pilots, the love was all for him. He didn’t know which option disturbed him most. Shocking both of them, he cracked a smile, shaking his head.

“You get used to it, pretty boy,” a girl rasped at his side, breaching pack levels worth of personal space. Her wild black curls bounced as her eye rolling physically shook her whole head. She stalked around him, dragging her sharp pink fingernail from bicep to bicep. On one hand, hell freaking yeah, even eastern chicks dig him, further proving his theory. Every type included him, but on the other hand, she did know he was with Stiles’s right?

“Jackson,” he introduced himself, offering his hand.

All she did was look at it. “I know who you are, meathead. The question is, do you?”

“Know who I am? Pretty sure.”

She leered at his joke; her impressed grin in combination with her abrasive tone told him everything he needed to know. She saw behind his bullshit. For weeks now, Stiles’d been rambling about his friends from home, preparing him for their visit. All those facts? One ear and out the other. “Name’s Kelsey. That’s Tinsel,” she cocked a thumb behind her, to a girl he hadn’t even noticed until this very moment. Kelsey turned, her hands springing into motion when the sudden realization dawned on him.

The girl cackled, her stringy arms involuntarily moving with the pace of her hands as she signed back.

He froze...more than that, his hands too. In middle school, they taught them how to sign their names, plus basic stuff--boy, girl, can I use the bathroom? Of course, that translated to him and Danny learning cuss words, just so they could insult everybody without them knowing. Something told him, now; his limited knowledge would not only get his ass beat, but would start a riot before they even left the airport. He sought out Stiles, forgetting that he’d forgetting that he'd join the circus. Both girls side-glanced him and they must have found something resembling panic because the girl spoke, her voice startling him for a split second.

"Relax," she brushed dust off his shoulder, “Don’t shit yourself.”

He didn't know what did it--her being bold enough to wipe invisible dust off his shoulders or her playful wink. "She said something rude, didn't she?" he settled on, not-so-subtle jerking his head in Kelsey's general direction.

It got him a punch in the stomach because apparently, he and Miss Fire Breathing Universe were tight like that now.

"You'll never know, boyfriend. Excuse me, a moment,” she stormed over to the boys, now in a near perfect circle, cackling and ignoring their existence. “Animals--Hello!"

"Ow ow ow ow..." Stiles whined, being drug back to him by the ear. "I'm sorry, Beanie. You're gonna let her hurt me like that?" he pouted, batting his wide eyes at Jackson.

She twisted harder. "No one calls me that anymore and he's ours now."

"Beanie, why you lying to the man? We got your back, bruh," Stiles #3, the one with the good hair, draped his arm around her, yanking her away from harm’s length. She tried to bite his hand away as Stiles used the freedom to sweep Tinsel off her feet, spinning her around and around. Their rapid conversation, whatever they signed, set a blush to her cheeks as Stiles waggled eyebrows at one of the guys.

“Everybody, this is Jackson, my--”

“Boyfriend, we knowwwww,” together, in the same tone, Stiles #1 and Stiles #3 droned, everyone else rolling their eyes.

"His face is only everywhere," Kelsey-Beanie tossed out there; she'd somehow made it back to Stiles’ side. "Facebook."

"Twitter," Stiles # 2 rattled off, looking far too much like Boyd’s doppelganger. Well, if Boyd was happy and smiled a million times more than he currently did.

"Insta." Stiles # 4 added, barely glancing away from Tinsel.

"Ugh, Snapchat." Yeah, he admit they'd probably gone overboard with the snaps. "How many shirtless photos do two dudes need?"

"As many as it takes when you look this good. Am I right?!" Stiles held out his palm, and he couldn't ignore the elation on his face. His smile, all of their creepy, jaw-wrenching smiles were growing on him. The guys ‘awww’ed’ when they did the secret handshake Stiles insisted they create late one night last month. After that, they finally progressed to Baggage Claim, both girls on either side of him. Names flew at him faster than Stiles’s schoolbooks when he used to oversleep at the loft. By the end of it, he only remembered ‘Phil the Pharm,’ since he was certain the latter half of the guy’s name alluded to drugs rather than livestock, judging by his red-rimmed eyes.

By the time, everyone found their luggage, three people used the restroom, two brought Starbucks, and Beanie-Kelsey spent eight dollars on motion sickness medicine. She tapped him on the cheek as she passed, muttering, "Can't trust everybody's driving, J. No offense." His only response was to clutch tighter to his keys and look to the ceiling for help. Slowly, he’d felt as if they started a summer camp for wild New Yorkers and they were here for an entire five days. Sighing, he reached for Stiles’ hand and listened as they all yelled over one another. Stiles met his family, so it was ‘bout time he did the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, didn't think I'd make it to this moment, but it feels pretty damn good. Thanks so much for all the encouragement and putting up with my sporadic updates/outrageous plot turns. 
> 
> Side note--Blanket Forts are the greatest. 
> 
> If you'd like to see more inspirations, such as settings, characters, etc, you can check that out [here](http://joom.ag/oGvp) and the New Kid Pinterest Board [right here](https://www.pinterest.com/manspirations/the-new-kid-fic-stackson/). And, I'm currently writing tons of more stories, but I'm vowing never to do the WIP route again, so here's hoping for faster fingers and more productive writing sessions.


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